Chapter 15

In Lothíriel’s room, the next obstacle awaited him. When they entered, Dordes rose from a chair where she had been doing some mending.

“You’re back early, Child,” she said. “Is something the matter?” Then she spotted him in the doorway. “Oh, my Lord King! Forgive me, I didn’t see you at first.” She sank into a curtsy.

It was their habit for Dordes to assist Lothíriel in undressing and then give a discreet knock on Éomer’s door before leaving. Another of his half-witted ideas, like the separate bedrooms! He really must have been slightly demented when he suggested their living arrangements. As if he wasn’t perfectly able – and willing! – to undress his wife himself. However, Lothíriel clutched her maid’s arm and he could not find it within him to throw the old woman out. “I’ll see you in a moment,” he said and retreated to his own bedroom.

There Éomer shed his heavily embroidered overcoat and took off his boots, then he began to pace to and fro. Surely he was right to insist on talking things out? But Lothíriel had looked almost frightened. Had he been too abrupt? In a short time came the expected knock on the door and after waiting a moment longer to let Dordes retire, he rejoined his wife.

She sat on her bed, her wealth of raven hair cascading down her back, large eyes regarding him apprehensively. A nightgown of creamy lace frothed around her, distracting him momentarily. While he knew little of female apparel, surely he would have noticed such a beguiling garment, had she worn it before. “That’s new, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes.” She held out an arm to show him the delicate pattern of swirling flowers and leaves, affording him a tantalising glimpse of her lithe body beneath it. “I ordered it from Dol Amroth while you were away. Do you like it?”

“Eh…” He fought down the impulse to tumble her between the sheets that very moment. “Yes, it’s very… pretty.” He took a step back to compose himself. While it was flattering that she should seek his opinion on what she wore, that was not what he had wanted to talk to her about. He cleared his throat. “Lothíriel, I said just now that I needed to speak to you…”

“Yes?” Somehow the way she sat there, looking up at him warily, reminded him of their wedding night. Hadn’t she learnt to trust him at all? He was aware that he loomed over her, but had no confidence in his self-control if he joined her on the bed.

“I wanted to talk about the two of us,” he continued resolutely, “where we stand.”

Lothíriel clutched her hands in her lap. “Yes?”

Éomer regarded her in some consternation. What was the matter with her? She seemed as anxious as a child being scolded for some mischief. He gentled his voice even more. “We made a bargain on our wedding night and you’ve really done yourself proud. Only just now I was thinking how well you run Meduseld, so please don’t doubt that I’m very grateful for your efforts. However…”

She swallowed, as if bracing herself for a blow. “However?”

Éomer sighed. “It’s not enough. There is something missing in our marriage. Surely you know that.”

She bit her lip. “Of course I do.” Then she looked up pleadingly. “But we’ve been married less than a year! It’s still early days…”

Less than a year, yet he could no longer imagine life without her. “Do you mean you need more time?” he asked, feeling his way.

“I..I..don’t know!” she stammered. “You must realise I cannot give you certainty.”

So she did not love him. While he could not blame her for being so honest with him, his heart still felt like a lump of lead in his chest. “Lothíriel, I’m not sure I can go on like this,” he burst out.

She went white. “I..I see.”

“You do?”

“Yes, of course.” She began to twist one of the sleeves of her nightgown, mangling the delicate lace. “It hardly comes as a surprise, does it? In fact I worried about it and talked it over with Cenred.”

“Oh!” He’d had no idea that the bard was so much in her confidence. And while he didn’t really like the idea of her discussing their affairs with the elderly man, he could hardly dictate her choice of confidants. “And?”

“He explained.”

What was there to explain? “But what are your own feelings?” he pressed her.

Her hair fell forward in a dark curtain as she bowed her head. “I understand your reasons and you needn’t fear that I’ll make difficulties. I know only too well what I owe you and the Rohirrim, so don’t worry that I’ll cause a fuss. I’ll go quietly.”

“Go!” It felt as if the ground had dropped away under his feet.

She looked up again. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? That way you can make a fresh start, for yourself and for the Mark.”

A moment ago he had thought that he could not continue living the way they had, but now he realised that even less could he afford to lose her. Suddenly any compromise at all that would make her stay seemed acceptable. “But I don’t want you to go!” he exclaimed.

Her eyes widened. “What? You can hardly expect me to stand by and watch while you set somebody else in my place!”

The bitterness in her voice took him aback. What was she talking about? Sometimes it seemed to him as if they were speaking two different languages, not understanding each other at all. She looked so unhappy!

And with that thought he decided that once and for all he’d had enough of bumbling about in the smoke and mirrors, walking into things in the dark. He had always been better at smashing his way through anyway.

He sat down and took hold of Lothíriel’s shoulders. “Listen to me: you are my wife and queen. I do not want you to leave and neither do I want to set somebody else in your place.” He enunciated each word carefully to avoid any misunderstandings. “I love you, but if you can’t see your way to loving me back, then I’m willing to wait.” There it was. Admittedly it might not have been the smoothest declaration of love ever made, but it was the truth.

His wife stared at him in shock. He could literally watch the blood draining from her face. “You…you love me?” she whispered.

“Yes,” he answered defiantly.

“But you just said that you intend to divorce me.”

“What? I said nothing of the sort! Why would I want to divorce you?” Where had she got that idea?

Lothíriel made a helpless gesture at her lap. “For barrenness of course.”

His fingers tightened on her shoulders. “What?”

“You said yourself that there is something missing: an heir for Rohan. I had worried about it already and asked Cenred.” She gave a disconsolate little sniff. “He explained that although it’s usual to wait thrice nine months, barrenness is grounds for the dissolution of marriage.”

“No! Lothíriel, believe me, I don’t ever want to let you go!” He took a deep breath to calm himself. “What I meant is that I wish for more in our marriage than just being together for mutual convenience.”

She swayed in his grip. “Oh!”

But he wanted to make things absolutely clear. “So, we’ve established that I love you. But what about you, Lothíriel, do you love me too?”

The blood that had drained away rushed back into her cheeks. “Of course I do!”

For a moment he could only stare at her. For him there was no ‘of course’ about it. Then he pulled her to him and kissed her.

Lothíriel threw her arms around his neck and clung to him as if she were drowning. “Oh, Éomer!” Sudden sobs shook her. “I thought you wanted to send me back to Dol Amroth!” Her lips tasted salty.

She had somehow ended up in his lap, an altogether delightful bundle of woman and lace, if a little teary, and he settled her in his arms more securely. “My poor sweet! But Lothíriel, dear heart, how could you think that I wanted to get rid of you. Of all the ridiculous ideas! Didn’t I show you last night how much I had missed you?”

“But that was before you found out about the Dunlendings! I thought…well…that you were mad at me for interfering in men’s business and had had enough of me.” She tried to blot her eyes on her lacy nightgown, but then gave up and absentmindedly used one of his sleeves instead. “Éomer, I’m so sorry about the Dunlendings. Believe me, I only wanted to help!”

“I know!” He hesitated, for even now he still found it difficult to admit that he’d been wrong. “And you did the right thing.”

She looked up at him in surprise. “You really think so?”

“Yes.” He sighed. “I have to confess I will never trust them completely, let alone like them, but nobody wants to watch children starve. I’m willing to work with them and perhaps in time we’ll forge a peace to benefit all of us.”

Gently she touched his cheek. “Éomer, I know it’s difficult for you after what happened in the West Mark, but I think you’re doing the right thing.”

He took her hand and kissed her palm. “I hope so.”

“So you’re not mad at me.” She sounded relieved. “You looked so grim while riding back!”

“I’m sorry.” He remembered his foul mood only too well. “To be honest, I felt foolish.”

“Foolish! But why?”

“Well, I had just rushed back from Minas Tirith to keep you safe and it was all for nothing.”

She regarded him with big eyes. “Oh! Were you really afraid for me?”

“Horribly. And the only thing I managed to do was to make a fool of myself.”

“So that’s why you scowled at me so fiercely before you hurried out the hall,” she exclaimed.

He felt heat rise to his cheeks. But some things were better out in the open. “Actually I scowled at Eadbald. I wondered if you liked him better than me.”

Lothíriel’s mouth dropped open. “What? But that’s ridiculous!”

In a way Éomer found her surprise rather gratifying. “He’s closer to your age,” he pointed out however.

She pulled a face. “I suppose so. But Eadbald? I mean, I really like him, but he still needs to do some growing up, don’t you think? He reminds me of a puppy, eager to please but too clumsy to be taken seriously.”

“Oh.” Éomer couldn’t stop a silly grin from spreading across his face at his wife’s words. Perhaps he’d cut the poor lad some slack in the future, he seemed a decent enough sort after all. To celebrate and because Lothíriel was so tantalisingly close, he kissed her again, taking his time. “I still can’t believe that you love me,” he whispered when they had to pause for breath. He felt giddy and elated, as if he could do anything at all.

She gave a deep sigh of contentment and rested her head against his shoulder. “How could I not? I admit that when we got married I never meant to, but you were so unexpectedly kind!”

“Kind?” Éomer felt rather guilty when he remembered how little he had considered her feelings when asking for her hand.

 She nodded. “You took me seriously and listened to me, you trusted in my abilities as queen.” With her fingers she absentmindedly traced a pattern on his shirt and he couldn’t help thinking that it would be even nicer if she traced it on his skin. “You made time for me, to take me to the stables and to see the horses. And you didn’t even mind when I beat you at hounds and boars! Of course I fell in love with you.” Her voice grew low. “And then you had to leave to go to war and I was frightened and missed you. But how could I tell you? On our wedding night you had said that you neither asked for love nor offered it.”

“Oh Lothíriel!” He hugged her closer. “You shouldn’t listen to every harebrained thing I say! I must have regretted those words a hundred times since.”

She looked up at him with a twisted smile. “But you meant them then.”

“Yes,” he admitted.

“Well, I thought that if only I worked hard at being a good wife and worthy queen, if I made the Rohirrim like me, I could become the woman you wanted.”

“And you succeeded! It took me a while to realise the accomplished queen was not the real Lothíriel and to glimpse the enchanting girl she hid within. She comes out too seldom, but I hope she might stay now.”

Lothíriel blushed at the compliment, but raised an eyebrow. “You make it sound as if I were two separate people.”

“That’s how it sometimes seemed to me.”

A frown appeared between her eyebrows. “I suppose there is some truth in that. My mother died when I was fourteen, and I felt I had to live up to her example, to be just like her. It made it easier to deal with the hurt to wall up my feelings somewhere deep inside.”

He cupped her face in his hand. “I know how that feels. I’m sorry, dear heart.”

Lothíriel gave him a shy smile. “I never thought I’d hear you call me that.”

“You had better get used to it,” he informed her. “And now I have to set a few things straight: for a start I want to cancel the bargain we made on our wedding night. It was a thoroughly stupid idea anyway.”

“Are you proposing a different one?”

“No. I will just give you what I have and take whatever you’re willing to offer in return.”

Her face lit up, but she inclined her head formally. “My Lord King, that is acceptable to me.”

“I should never have offered you such a loveless marriage anyway. If you had thrown my proposal back in my face, it would have been nothing but what I deserved!”

 Very slowly she shook her head. “No. It was the only proposal I would have accepted. It was only when you were so nice to me on our wedding night, when you actually talked to me and asked for my wishes, that I began to think of you as a person. Before, you were just my escape from Gondor and the memories there.” Her voice died away at some old remembered pain.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he said quickly.

“No, I think it might help. I’ve been wanting to, but didn’t know how to begin.” To his surprise, suddenly she wriggled out of his grip. “Just a moment.” He was left clutching empty air.

Lothíriel went into her study and came back an instant later holding something. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, she slipped back onto his lap. “Here.”

It took an effort of will to concentrate on what she held out to him, instead of just grabbing his wonderfully pliant wife and sinking into bed with her. It was a ring of heavy gold, with a large sapphire set into it. He squinted at the design engraved on it, three letters in tengwar, surmounted by three stars. Éomer realised he knew it. “That’s the emblem of the Stewards of Gondor!” he exclaimed.

“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “Boromir gave it to me as a token.”

“Boromir!”

“The evening before he left for Imladris, he…he asked me to marry him and gave me this ring.” Her voice broke. “I’d been in love with him ever since I was a little girl. I was so happy!”

“Boromir,” he could only repeat stupidly, his mind reeling. “I never guessed.”

“Nobody knew. I hadn’t been to Minas Tirith for some years, but by chance I was there when they debated what to do about the prophecy they had received in their dreams. Boromir had always been so kind to me – it was him who dunked Amrothos in the horse trough over the spider business – and so brave and handsome and splendid!” The words now tumbled out of her. “It all happened in a flash, afterwards it seemed like a dream. We didn’t even tell his father, though Uncle Denethor would have been pleased. He was always very fond of me, I think he would have liked a daughter.”

Éomer shook his head in wonder. “So it was Boromir you grieved over.” He searched her face, half expecting fresh tears, but though she looked sad, her eyes remained dry. “You know, I met him when he passed through Edoras on his journey north, for we lent him a horse. I liked him, he was a worthy man.”

Lothíriel sighed. “So he was.” She looked up at him. “In a way you’re a lot like him, Éomer.”

Brave, handsome and splendid? Well, if she thought that of her husband he wasn’t going to contradict her! Lothíriel was still caught up in her train of thought anyway. She chewed her lower lip. “Though I suppose Boromir was more driven, for Uncle Denethor always rode him hard. I couldn’t have cared less about becoming the highest lady in Gondor, but he put great importance on his position. I just liked him for himself.”

Éomer gently pulled her closer. “I’m sorry.”

She snuggled against him. “Lately I’ve been wondering how well I really knew him and if I would have liked being married to him. I suppose he would have expected me to preside over the court at Minas Tirith, which Amrothos has always called a proper snake-pit.” She rubbed her eyes. “And then I felt guilty for my doubts and for being happy here, as if I had betrayed him somehow.”

Éomer kissed her brow. “I’m sure he wouldn’t have begrudged your happiness, my sweet, not if he really loved you. And wherever he is now, surely he is beyond such concerns.” Poor man, he thought, dying all alone so far from the ones he loved. But then he suddenly remembered something she had told him on their wedding night. “But Lothíriel,” he added, “didn’t you say you saw him die? How is that possible?”

Where before Lothíriel had leant against him soft and relaxed, he now felt tension strumming through her. She went stiff and sat up. “I…I said so, didn’t I…” Her voice petered out.

She sounded so forlorn, all he wanted to do was to gather her to him and comfort her. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Come here.”

His wife allowed him to pull her to him, but then she shook her head. “No. You should know.” She looked up at him. “Just please don’t think me a freak.”

“A freak!”

“I sometimes have visions. When those I love are in danger.” She took a deep breath. “I saw Boromir die.”

“Oh Lothíriel, poor you!” He hugged her closer. “But why should I think you a freak? Surely the gift of seeing runs in the blood of Númenor, just look at Faramir.”

“Others have dreams, useful messages from the Valar. A chance to act, to take their fate into their own hands,” she said bitterly. “But I don’t get sent on quests to Imladris, I just get to watch those I love die a horrible death.”

Those she loved? “Who else did you see?” he asked very gently.

“The first was my grandfather, but I was so small, I just took it for a bad dream. Then…my…my mother. Drowning is not a good death.” The poor girl! And her nothing more than a child! Before he could find an adequate reply, she continued in a toneless voice. “Boromir pierced by arrows. My father and brothers at the gates of Minas Tirith.”

“But they didn’t die!”

“They would have, but for the coming of the Rohirrim. It’s so horrible, there’s never anything I can do! Sometimes I just get the briefest of glimpses, short moments of danger in a fight. It’s a curse really.”

“I’m sorry.” He searched for something comforting to say. “We cannot choose the gifts we were born with, so we just have to try to make the best of them. The Valar have given me the Rage and it nearly betrayed me and all my men to my death once.”

“I saw you, you know,” she said suddenly. “On your campaign to fight this Son of Sauron. All I got was a glimpse, a single moment of danger in battle, but that’s how I realised I’d fallen in love with you. It forced me to face the truth. And in a way it was a relief, for I reasoned that I would know if anything happened to you.” She gave him a sudden smile. “Strangely enough, late one night I even thought I heard you say my name. But it was long after the battle, so perhaps I had just dozed off and dreamt it, for I was rather tired.”

“No, that was me!” Éomer exclaimed.

“Really? But how?”

“I had just got your letters and I was so worried that I borrowed the palantír from Aragorn. And then when I saw you in the stone, I called your name and I suppose you must have sensed that somehow.” He grinned in reminiscence. “Poor Aragorn. I had to get him out of bed.”

Her eyes went big. “You woke King Elessar because of me?” Like many Gondorians she seemed to hold his friend in excessive awe.

“Oh, he hadn’t actually gone to sleep yet,” Éomer reassured her. But then he had to chuckle. “Although on his first evening home that was not necessarily any better, of course. Queen Arwen got her revenge anyway; her words opened my eyes to the fact that I’d fallen in love with you and I spent many a restless night on the way home, wondering how to get up the courage to tell you.”

The corners of her eyes crinkled. “Well, I’m glad I’ve got such a brave husband.”

“It’s no laughing matter! I’d much rather have faced a pack of wargs.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You prefer wargs to your wife?” she asked in mock outrage.

His heart lifted to see her so carefree. “Not really,” he quipped. “They’re a bit too toothy for my taste. I prefer something softer.” And he kissed her again.

Lothíriel melted into his embrace in the most satisfactory manner, but then she wriggled out of his grip once more. Really, he hoped she wouldn’t make a habit of it! “Let me just put the ring away safely first,” she said a bit out of breath. Well, at least that sounded as if she knew what he had in mind. And didn’t object to it.

He followed her as she got up and went to her desk. One of the little drawers was pulled out and she carefully put the ring into its nest of blue silk. “I’ve been thinking I should give it to Faramir, for it’s an heirloom of his house, rightfully belonging to the eldest son. He probably thinks it was lost in the war,” Lothíriel said. “I just couldn’t bring myself to give away the only thing I had left of Boromir.”

Éomer put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed them. “I can understand that. But yes, you should probably give it back.”

She sighed. “You’re right. I have been feeling bad about keeping it. I’ll write to Faramir and send it with the next courier.” Gently she pushed the drawer closed. Then she looked over her shoulder at him and gave a deprecating smile. “I’m not good at letting go, I cling to things.”

“My sweet wife, you may cling to me as much as you like.” He chuckled at the picture her words called to mind. “Actually Éowyn once mentioned that Faramir had compared you to a limpet, impossible to dislodge.”

“A limpet!” Then she grinned. “Ah, but what poor landlubbers like you and Faramir don’t know is that you can get limpets off quite easily. You just have to creep up on them and give them a sharp blow. You have to be quick about it though.”

“Oh? Like this?” And he swept her up in his arms.

Lothíriel gave a shriek of surprise and clutched at him. But a moment later she snuggled against his chest. “Yes!” she whispered.

He carried her to the bed and gently laid her down. “And another thing,” he said, “No more of this nonsense of separate bedrooms; I intend to sleep in your bed from now on.”

Lothíriel threw her arms around him and pulled him down on her. “Yes please! Stay here always, I sleep so much better when you’re with me.”

Didn’t he have an eminently sensible wife? He rolled over and pulled her on top of him. “And if I ever utter another such idiotic idea, you have my permission to have Éothain hit me over the head,” he quipped.

Her raven hair fell in a dark curtain about them. “As my Lord King commands,” she chuckled. “Alternatively, may I tell him to dunk you in the horse trough? It might be less damaging.”

“I leave that to your discretion, my queen.” He grinned up at her and let his hands roam down her back. “Now, much as I appreciate this sea foam turned into a nightgown, could you see your way to taking it off?” His fingers found silken ribbons and tugged at them.

“Whatever my husband wishes,” she said with a melting smile.

To his gratification, once the ribbons had been undone, he could slide the whole lacy thing over his wife’s shoulders, baring creamy skin and the gentle curve of her back. They rolled over onto their sides and with shy hands she helped him undo his own shirt and trousers. Then he bundled the nightgown up and threw it on the floor – and for the first time he saw his wife completely naked. She blushed like a bride, but held his gaze.

Reverently Éomer traced the line of her hips and waist, feeling as if he was making love to her for the first time. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “Lothíriel, may we leave the lamps burning?”

“Yes!” Hesitantly she stroked his face, as if for her it was all new too. “I’ve been wanting to see you, all of you, but I didn’t know how to ask.”

“You have?” Gently he brushed back a lock of her black hair. “Lothíriel, will you tell me why you wanted the lights off on our wedding night?” He wondered if he should really voice his suspicions, but then decided a policy of complete truth was best. “Was it because…you, well…pictured somebody else in my place?”

“What? Of course not!” She sounded surprised. “That wouldn’t have been fair to you, would it.”

She set herself very high standards! “Perhaps not fair,” he answered, “but understandable.”

“No, it was very much you in my bed that night.” His wife was blushing in earnest now. “It seems ridiculous in hindsight, but I was terribly nervous.” Lothíriel snuggled closer. “And at the same time I tried so hard to become the woman you wanted, that perfect queen…” She sighed. “Oh Éomer, I felt that only in the dark could I let go and just be myself.”

He gathered her to him. “Lothíriel, sweet heart, when you’re with me, you can always be yourself.”

“I know now.”

A/N: The description of the seal of the Stewards is from a footnote in the Unfinished Tales. The three letters on it stand for ‘arandur’, ‘king’s servant’