Chapter 13

Home. Éomer slumped tiredly in the saddle. Ahead of them, the hill of Edoras was alight with torches, so his messenger must have announced the news of their coming. He had sent one of his riders on ahead when they had stopped in Alburg for a word with his Marshal. However, Elfhelm had been away, and though his wife had urged him to stay the night, Éomer had declined the offer, earning himself grins from his men at his eagerness to be home.

Knowing the end of their journey beckoned, Firefoot lifted his weary head and picked up the pace. Soon they splashed through the ford of the Snowbourne and the guards at the gate greeted them by blowing their horns. He raised a hand in acknowledgement to the people of Edoras who had come to cheer them despite the late hour, but did not stop to talk to any. Up the hill, past the stables, and then…

She stood at the foot of the stairs, holding the welcoming cup. Éomer thrust his helmet at Éothain to hold, urged Firefoot forward and swung out of the saddle.

“Be welcome,” Lothíriel began the traditional greeting, “it gladdens–”

He grabbed the cup of mead from her, downed it in one gulp and then seized her in his arms and kissed her. She was all right! Even though he had seen her in the palantír, he didn’t truly believe it until he could at last touch her.

She started with surprise at first, but then her arms slid round his neck. Éomer dropped the empty cup to the ground and let his hands roam all over her. How well she fitted into his arms, how sweet she tasted. She was all marvellously soft woman! He twined his fingers in her hair and caught the scent of roses.

Finally they separated. He cupped her face in his hands. “You smell wonderful,” he said the first thing that came into his mind, only to become aware of his own less than pristine condition. He reeked of sweat and horse from the long ride, his hair needed a wash and his clothing had definitely seen better days. A brief rain shower that afternoon had only added the smell of wet wool to complement the other rather pungent aromas surrounding him.

Laughter sprang into her eyes as she must have realised the same thing. “Welcome home, Éomer. Would you rather have your meal first or your bath?”

His bed? With her in it? He sighed. “You’re the best of wives. A bath first, I think.”

Éomer dismissed his riders, then slipped his arm around Lothíriel’s waist as they went up the stairs. The doors of Meduseld opened in welcome and he drank in the familiar sights. It was good to be home! In their quarters, Lothíriel drew him towards his own bedroom and the small bathroom beyond it.

“The water is still hot,” she said, “the servants just need to bring it in here.”

He realised that it had probably been heated for her evening bath. “I’m not using your water, am I?” he asked.

“You are, but I think you need it more.” Her voice shook just slightly.

He grinned ruefully. How right she was! A couple of servants carrying buckets of water were just finishing filling the big wooden tub that took up most of the space in the small bathroom.

Lothíriel would have left then, but he grabbed her hand. “Stay with me?” He found he wanted to keep his wife close after not seeing her for such a long time.

She hesitated.

“To keep me company,” he added, “and tell me the news of Edoras?”

“If you wish.”

Éomer beamed at her, calling forth a shy answering smile. Hesitantly she touched the length of green silk still tied around his upper arm. “You’re wearing my scarf.”

“Of course!” He looked down at the scrunched up fabric, which like himself was rather worse for wear. “I’m afraid it got a little bit crumpled… But it brought me luck!”

“That’s fine then,” she assured him with a twinkle in her eyes. “I have more scarves – but only the one husband.”

Éomer laughed. “I’m glad to hear that.” His heart overflowed with sudden contentment and he realised how much he had missed her quiet wit.

Their task done, the servants now trooped out the room, and he began shedding his clothes, not bothering to go behind the carved screen set up in one corner for him. Lothíriel helped by taking his sword and belt and putting it out of the way. Pulling his shirt over his head, he looked up to find her watching his movements with a strange expression on her face. Then their eyes met and she coloured to the roots of her hair.

“I’ll be right back,” she stuttered, “I just want to change into something more comfortable.” And she hastily left the bathroom.

Éomer grinned. Why, his wife blushed like a maid on her wedding night! For a moment he was tempted to go and find her while she changed into ‘something more comfortable’, but the rich odour he still emanated persuaded him otherwise. Soon, he promised himself.

The warm water beckoned to him and with a sigh of pure pleasure he sank into the tub. He intended to just quickly wash his hair and then find Lothíriel, but first he would relax for a moment. It had been a long, strenuous ride from Minas Tirith.

He closed his eyes…

Clever fingers massaged his scalp and the scent of lemon balm filled the air. Éomer blinked and sat up. Had he drifted off? “Lothíriel?”

“Were you expecting somebody else?” his wife asked back.

She seemed to have recovered her usual cool composure anyway! Éomer leant back while she worked up a lather and then rinsed his hair. What a deft touch she had. ‘Something more comfortable’ meant her bed robe, he noted with approval.

“You’re back early,” she remarked, “we didn’t expect you for another couple of weeks.”

“I decided to come home sooner,” he answered. Now was not the time to discuss the reason for his early return, that could wait. She had taken no harm from her foolhardy actions and he would make sure that it did not happen again. His mood turned grim as he considered what to say to that whelp Eadbald regarding his duty as warden of the West Mark.

“I’ll speak to Wulfrith first thing tomorrow morning about organising a victory feast for your éored,” Lothíriel continued, unaware of his thoughts, “and then we’ll have a big one when the rest of the host returns.”

“I don’t want to make more work for you,” he said.

“It’s no bother,” she assured him. “Everybody is glad to have you back.”

Everybody? What about herself? Then he chided himself for brooding too much. “By the way, I got your chickens,” he remarked lightly.

“You did?” She sounded pleased. “I asked the merchant for his best layers, but I wasn’t sure if they would make it.”

“Two dozen of them did, much to Amrothos’s envy.”

“Good! Did he come scrounging for eggs?”

Éomer chuckled. “Actually he did, and even more when he later discovered you had supplied me with wine as well.” He turned his head to look up at her. “You take excellent care of your husband.”

She blushed with pleasure at his compliment. “It’s nothing.”

“Not when you’re exhausted after a long ride and a hard battle. I’ve seldom been so glad to sink into a comfortable bed.”

She rested her hand on his shoulders for a moment. “But you took no hurt?”

So she did worry about him. He felt inordinately pleased as he sank into the warm water again. “Nothing beyond a few scrapes and bruises.”

Lothíriel leant forward to crumble a few more leaves of dried lemon balm into the bath. “I thought not,” she murmured, almost as if to herself, “but I couldn’t be sure.”

A reminder of what a poor correspondent he was? “I’m sorry my letter was so brief,” he said.

“Oh, I didn’t expect anything else.” There was a trace of amusement in her voice. “Father is just the same. If it weren’t for my sister-in-law, I would not know what goes on at Dol Amroth at all. I hope I didn’t bore you with my letters, but you said you wanted to hear the news from Edoras.”

He couldn’t quite admit how much he had enjoyed her letters, rereading them often as they camped for the night on the way home – except for the last one! “No, you didn’t bore me,” he said and she seemed content with that and set to rinsing his hair one more time.

“You need to have your hair trimmed,” she mused while gently working out the tangles. “If you want to, I can do it for you.”

“Maybe later,” he said. He had other plans first.

“I’ve improved a lot since cutting off Amrothos’s cherished pirate tail as a girl, so you needn’t worry.”

He chuckled. “Was it a mistake or deliberate?”

“A bit of both,” she admitted. “It was soon after the spider incident.”

“In that case, if I take you up on your offer, I’ll make sure I don’t annoy you beforehand.”

She laughed. “Oh, you have nothing to fear. I still owe you for getting rid of that nasty, fat spider the other day.”

He closed his eyes with contentment. “I’ll think of a way for you to express your gratitude.”

She actually chuckled. “You know, it has been dull around here without you!”

Éomer grinned. Was there anything better than being at home, lying in a tub of warm water and exchanging banter with your wife? Well, maybe one thing.

He lifted a leg to inspect it. “I think I’m clean enough now, don’t you agree?”

“You’ll pass.”

She fetched a towel and held it out in front of her like a barrier as he stepped out the bath. Though she studiously kept her eyes fixed on his face, a trace of colour crept back into her cheeks. Amused, Éomer stretched leisurely before he wrapped the towel around himself. Surely she should be used to his naked form by now – at least in the darkness of her bed.

Lothíriel took a step back. “Are you hungry? Should I tell the servants to get you something to eat?”

He caught her arm and gently pulled her towards him. “I am hungry. Not for food though...”

She blushed in earnest now, but lifted her face to him when he bent to kiss her. How good she tasted! And her intoxicating scent – ah, but it had been far too long. He let his hands roam up her back, discovering anew his wife’s delectable curves, and she responded by digging her fingers into his shoulders and pressing her body against him.

A groan escaped Éomer. He needed her! “Come to bed with me?” he whispered in her ear.

Her head resting against his shoulder, she nodded wordlessly, so he took her by the hand and led her into his bedroom. Sitting down on the mattress, he pulled her into his arms, then kissed her again, both of them breathing rapidly. Surely she had to be the most desirable woman in the whole of Arda! The single oil-lamp by the bedside cast a soft glow on his wife’s profile as he lowered her onto the bed. She looked up at him, eyes enormous, her dark hair spread across the pillow in a dramatic contrast to her creamy skin. Utterly alluring. They stayed poised like that for a long moment, then she lifted a hand to trace the shape of his lips.

Her touch, light as a butterfly, undid him completely. “I want you,” he breathed.

Turning his head, he blew out the lamp, then claimed her mouth again, more urgently. And in the darkness suddenly she matched him, writhing out of her robe and answering his feverish touches with kisses that burnt on his skin. It was as if a dam had broken.

With frenzied fingers they explored each other’s bodies, first one on top, then the other, rolling this way and that on the narrow bed.

Both starved, both wanting, needing…   

***

Much later Éomer smoothed out the twisted sheets and drew his wife against his side. Lothíriel nestled closer with a contented sigh, her head resting on his shoulder, one arm flung across his chest. With their passion spent, a comfortable lassitude had taken hold of him and he felt himself start to drift off.

Home. Deep down all the tension of the last weeks unravelled, as if his body could only now believe that all was well. Slowly he stroked Lothíriel’s hair, luxuriating in its softness, the feeling of her smooth skin against his. Once again she had surprised him, abandoning herself to their need, showing such open ardour. His wife. As baffling as ever in her reactions, yet utterly precious. All he wanted.

“Lothíriel?” he whispered.

She yawned. “Mmh?”

“I…I…” Why was it so difficult to admit his feelings? “I missed…this.”

She gave a sleepy sigh. “Me too.” Snuggling even closer, she relaxed against him, all warm and soft.

In his tired brain, Éomer searched for the right words to express the deep contentment he only found when she lay in his arms. His body, however, felt as if all his muscles and sinews had loosened and he only wanted to sink into deepest slumber. He nuzzled the crown of Lothíriel’s head, inhaling her scent.

For the moment it was enough just to hold her, to listen to her breathing and to know she was safe. 

***

The sun woke him the next morning, a bright shaft of light spearing through the windows. Éomer yawned, marvelling how relaxed he felt. Lothíriel was still curled against his side, surely the best sight for a man to wake up to. Stretching leisurely, he settled her more securely in his arms and couldn’t help a self-satisfied smile. After last night she could hardly deny that she had missed him! Who would have thought that his dignified queen hid such passion behind her cool, controlled exterior?

But slowly his smile faded. So she liked being in his bed, yet he was not a green rider anymore to take lust for love. Once, seducing her body would have been all he wanted, but now he desired to seduce her heart, an altogether more difficult task. Oh, Béma! He had never felt so uncertain with a woman since he was a stripling!

His mind went back to their wedding night and the bargain they had made. Was it dishonourable of him to want to change it, to ask for more? He shook his head at himself. What a fool he’d been to propose such a sterile pact, devoid of all that made life worthwhile. It had taken the shock of knowing her in danger to make him realise how much he needed her. But how could he say that to a woman who had chosen him over her other suitors because he did not talk of love to her?

As the light brightened, he wondered how late it was and when she would wake up. Gently he brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen across her face, but then he frowned: traces of dark rings showed around her eyes. And were those lines of tiredness? Had she taken on too much, organising all their supplies for them? Or was Eadbald to blame for dumping his problem with the Dunlendings on her? Or…dared he hope… had she worried about him?

He wanted to kiss her awake and ask her, but she looked so fragile somehow, lying there in his arms, fine boned and with her white, translucent skin. It would be cruel to tear her from her rest.

The sun rose higher and still her breathing did not change from the regular, slow rhythm of deep slumber. Éomer’s stomach reminded him that it was a long time since the last frugal meal, some bread and cheese eaten on the ride from Aldburg. Surely it was well past time for breakfast, but there was no sound from outside. It seemed Dordes was not keen on a repeat of that scene on the morning he had left either!

Finally he wriggled out from under his wife’s delightful weight, careful not to wake her. However, he needn’t have worried, Lothíriel just rolled over onto the warm spot he had vacated and buried deeper into the sheets. After throwing on a shirt and some trousers, he went out into the corridor and sent a page to fetch breakfast. Going back, he leant against the doorframe and watched his wife sleeping.

Home at last.

From the anteroom came the sound of a door opening and when he went to check, he found Dordes with a tray of food and kahva.

“Good morning, my Lord King,” she greeted him. “You sent for breakfast?”

Making completely sure she wasn’t interrupting anything? He must have scared the poor woman more thoroughly than he had realised! “Thank you, Dordes,” he replied. “I’ll take that, Lothíriel is still asleep.”

She passed the tray and curtsied. “Yes, my Lord King.”

“And thank you for showing Ceola how to brew kahva,” he added impulsively, “I very much appreciated it.”

Dordes sniffed. “It was my mistress’s idea.”

Put on his mettle, Éomer gave her his best smile. “Of course Ceola’s brew was not as tasty as yours. I’m looking forward to drinking the real stuff.”

She unbent slightly. “Thank you, my lord. You honour me.” She curtsied again. “Is that all?”

He nodded for her to leave, but when she reached the door, he called her name. “Dordes?”

She turned round. “Yes, my lord?”

“Your mistress seems tired.” He let his voice peter out suggestively. If anybody knew Lothíriel’s feelings, surely it had to be her maid.

Dordes hesitated. “She had a lot to do, especially the last few days.”

“Yes?” he encouraged her.

“My Lord King,” the maid said in a rush, “please just remember that my mistress only acted with the very best intentions.” Then she opened the door and quickly slipped outside.

Éomer was left holding the tray, completely puzzled. What had she meant by that? Had he missed something? But the tantalising scent of kahva, brewed to perfection no doubt, rose to his nostrils and he dismissed the thought. He’d ask the maid later.

Back in his room, to his delight he found Lothíriel sitting up yawning.

“I’m sorry I fell asleep in your bed,” she said with a shy smile while she pulled up the bed sheets to cover herself. “I must have been more tired than I realised.”

“You don’t need to apologise for that,” he assured her, putting down the tray on a table by the side of the bed and handing her one of the cups. She would just have to live with the consequences...

As if she could read his thoughts, a slow blush rose to her cheeks. Then she noticed his attire. “Oh, you’ve been for a morning ride already?” And before he could correct her misconception, she sat up straighter. “You haven’t been down to the Dunlending camp, have you? I wanted to introduce you myself.”

“No, I’ve–” Éomer choked on his kahva. “The what!”

“Oh. So you haven’t.”

He took a deep breath. “Lothíriel, what are you talking about?”

She drew the sheets more closely around herself. “Eh, didn’t you get my last letter?”

“I got the one you wrote at the Fords of Isen.” Not an experience he had enjoyed either! What else had she been up to?

“Well, there were further developments and I wrote another one...”

“What developments?” He tried to keep his voice level, but nevertheless she jumped.

“The Dunlendings sent a delegation to negotiate a treaty… just a few people, Urho and his tribe.”

It took all his self-control not to yell at her. “Are you telling me there are Dunlendings here at Edoras?”

“Kind of… they have a camp not too far away...” she said in a small voice.

“I’ll have that useless whelp whipped,” he exploded. “How could Eadbald allow this, he must be out of his mind!”

Her face white, Lothíriel bit her lip. “Please don’t blame Eadbald. It was my idea to assure them safe passage. I thought you’d approve.”

For a moment her words left him speechless. Approve of Dunlendings in Edoras? The last time they had camped outside the Golden Hall had been during the Long Winter, when they had enjoyed their spoils until Fréaláf, Helm’s sister-son, had driven them out.

“I know you don’t like them,” Lothíriel added, “but–”

“Not like them?” he exclaimed. “Do you know what they did in the West Mark? How many people they killed? What they did to the women and children that didn’t get away in time?” He stopped himself just barely from telling her what they’d found in some of the Westfold’s farms.

“I do know,” she answered, “but please, Éomer, hear me out.”

He struggled with himself, not wanting to distress her. She sat there, clutching the sheets, looking up at him with huge eyes. This was not how he had imagined the morning of his homecoming! “Very well, but be brief,” he finally conceded.

“I know the Rohirrim and Dunlendings have long been enemies,” she said, swallowing, “yet now they’re our neighbours, subject to King Elessar’s rule. Wouldn’t it be better to make peace with them while we’re in a position of strength and encourage those tribes who are friendly by trading with them?”

“Trade with them! And what is next, do you want to give them our horses? Better weapons?” It was preposterous!

“Of course not,” she protested. “But I’ve seen them, they’re poor and starving, with most of their menfolk killed. Éomer, this is our chance to let them remember the Rohirrim not as the people who took their land away, but as the people who helped them in need!”

He crossed his arms on his chest. “Lothíriel, they can’t be trusted. Look how they turned on us during the Long Winter. I can show you the exact place on the threshold of Meduseld where they killed Haleth, Helm’s son.”

“I’ve read about it!” She sounded frustrated. “But that was nearly three hundred years ago. With Sauron fallen and Saruman gone, we have the opportunity to make a new beginning. At least go and meet them! You’ll see that they’re just a bunch of women and children, with a few youngsters at most, no threat at all to you.” She paused to catch her breath. “Give them a chance. Give me a chance!”

“What is your interest in them?” Éomer challenged her. “Why do you defend them?” He couldn’t help wondering if their chieftain Urho was handsome.

She sighed. “I feel sorry for them. If you saw them, you would understand. They are defeated, have lost their men, their brothers, their sons. All they have left is bitterness and ashes. I look at them and think it could so easily have been me.” She raised her face to him. “Éomer, I’ve had my losses, but I know that I’ve been lucky really. Please, just go down and talk to them.”

It was a plea he could not deny, not when she looked at him that way. “Very well,” he agreed curtly. “I will talk to them, even if only to tell them to leave. But on my own. You are staying here.”

“What! Certainly not.”

“It’s for your own sake. They might turn violent.”

The sheets had started to slip, but she paid them no heed. “They’ll be afraid of you, Éomer,” she pointed out. “Besides, I’ve given them my word of safe passage.”

He tore his gaze away from the glimpses of creamy skin. “And I’ll honour it.”

“I have a right to be there!”

“I’m not risking you, and that’s my final word,” Éomer snapped. “Eadbald should never have let you within a league of them.” The Rage threatened to rise and engulf him at the mere thought.

Lothíriel’s hands bunched on the sheets. “It was perfectly safe. He had his éored along and reinforcements within call.”

“That’s not enough. I don’t know what got into him!”

She lifted her chin. “He had a problem and put it to his queen. You yourself gave me the authority to act in your stead. I thought you trusted my judgement.”

To his surprise she sounded angry and he realised they were having their first quarrel. How had that happened? Though in the past he had wished for her to show her true feelings, he could not really count it as progress. “I do trust your judgement,” he said, gentling his voice. “But I never meant for you to go and put yourself in danger!” Couldn’t she see he had lost too many people?

Perhaps she sensed some of his turbulent thoughts, for she visibly forced herself to relax. “Éomer,” she said more quietly, “living is dangerous; you cannot put people in a cage in order that nothing happens to them. You have to let go and trust in them.”

“Yes, but you can still choose which risks you take and which you don’t.” And talking to Dunlendings was at the top of the list of risks not to run!

She put her head to one side. “So what about you? You don’t lead a particularly safe life, training at arms every day. Let alone going to war!”

Éomer didn’t know what to answer. “That’s different,” he finally said. A lame reply, but he just could not face losing another person dear to him.

“Having children is dangerous too,” she pointed out, her voice unyielding. “Does that mean that you will stop sleeping with me?”

That was unanswerable! But as he stared at her in baffled hurt and indignation, she suddenly rubbed her eyes and sank back down onto her cushions. “Oh, Éomer, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” She sounded discouraged. “I did not mean to welcome you back with an argument. You’ll think your wife a shrew.”

His anger drained away and he sat down on the side of the bed. “No, I won’t. You’re my wife and queen and I hope you’ll always tell me your honest opinion. I just don’t want something to happen to you.” It would gut him!

“I know.” She held out her hand to him. “And I do appreciate your concern. But trust me on this and take me along to talk to the Dunlendings. This is a risk worth taking, just think what we can gain!”

He hesitated. No gain was worth risking harm coming to her!

Lothíriel still had her hand extended. “Please, Éomer, won’t you let me come along? After all you’ll be there to keep me safe.” Her eyes were enormous in her face.

“You will follow orders?” he asked. And even as he said the words, he knew them for a capitulation.

So did his wife. “Of course.” She gave him a brilliant smile. “I promise you won’t regret it!”

He already was regretting his words! But Lothíriel gave him no chance to change his mind. Quickly she pulled at the sheets and wrapped them around herself. “I’ll get dressed at once,” she announced.

“Your breakfast,” he protested.

She had already scrambled out of the bed, trailing white linen behind her. “Oh, I’m not hungry.” And with that she flitted out the door.

With a sigh of frustration Éomer picked up his forgotten cup of kahva. So much for a leisurely morning with his wife!

The kahva was cold.