Tolkien Fan Fiction
| 11 |
| Chapter Eleven |
| The rain was lashing the farmhouse as the storm whipped itself into a frenzy. The foulness of the weather had helped Genting persuade Lothíriel to stay the night with him and his mother, who had been delighted to see Lothíriel again when they turned up from Edoras with sodden cloaks, albeit in a much better state than Lothíriel had arrived in at Edoras an hour or so earlier. Genting had been on duty at the stables when he had been told of the imminent arrival of a rider on a Mearas. The watchman had run to find him as soon as they had been spotted in the distance through the rainstorm. Genting had shouted to the steward to set a fire going in her room and organise a hot meal as soon as he recognised Geldsheen as lightening flashed through the storm. ‘Lady Lothíriel, are you alright? Please come inside out of the rain.’ She was soaked through and shivering as she leapt down from Geldsheen. She did not speak to Genting but caressed Geldsheen’s cheeks while resting her head on his nose. She was whispering to him in a strange Elvish language, not Sindarin with which Genting was familiar. The horse nuzzled her back, then turned to leave. ‘I am not staying long, Genting. Just to pick up some better travelling clothes,’ she said following Genting into the Great Hall of Meduseld. ‘Would you mind finding me a horse I might borrow? I cannot impose on Geldsheen again. I must get to Helm’s Deep. My own horse is with the King, and I would beg a temporary exchange if I may?’ she said sneezing. ‘I’m sorry Genting, I am a little cold. I must change immediately.’ ‘My Lady, you must stay the night here. I have ordered a fire to be made up in your room and hot food. And I will get a hot drink of mead sent to you immediately. King Éomer will never forgive me if I allowed you out again on such a night.’ A shadow of pain crossed her face at the mention of his name. ‘And yet I cannot stay here, Genting. Please do as I ask and find me a horse. I do not want to have to walk but walk I will if you do not….’ Genting had spent enough time with Lothíriel to know that he was not going to dissuade her. ‘I will find you a horse, my Lady, if you will do me the favour of coming with me to my mother’s house, which as you know is hardly a detour on your way to Helm’s Deep? I have had disturbing news that she has had another fall and you would provide me with the excuse to be able to visit her while on duty,’ he improvised cleverly. Lothíriel studied him carefully in some amusement. ‘I am very fond of your mother, as you know,’ she said cautiously. ‘She plays an excellent game of Faradin, as I suspect does her son.’ She went to change in her room, ate very quickly and warmed by the mead and the fire, she left with Genting for his mother’s farmhouse. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Lothíriel had initially refused to stay once she had found Genting’s mother in no particular need of her attentions, but Wilfran was just as quick-witted as her beloved son and she had intuitively understood her task was to induce Lothíriel to stay the night. Not wanting Lothíriel to leave the warmth of the roaring fire in the parlour room, Wilfran had challenged her guest for a re-match of her favourite pastime, and they were in the middle of a game of Faradin late into the evening when they heard the clattering of hooves outside announcing unexpected visitors. Lothíriel had frozen at the noise. It was possible that it was Théodred’s distant cousin, Trondig, coming to join Genting for the night as she knew he sometimes did, or perhaps it was Finglor, although the footfall of Maela would sound very different. Her heart was pounding at the thought that it might possibly even be Éomer, and it was that thought that was keeping her immobile. She knew she would be both disappointed and relieved in equal measure if it were Trondig who walked through the door. The two women could hear the murmuring of voices coming inside the farmhouse while wet outer-garments were being discarded and hung up to dry. Wilfran observed with a canny eye how Lothíriel’s face paled and was about to remind her to breath when Trondig came through the door. Still watching Lothíriel, Wilfran rose to greet her son’s best friend, who gave her a heartfelt hug and whispered a few words to her. She nodded and said to Lothíriel that she was just going to make everyone some more tea and followed Trondig out to the kitchen. Lothíriel breathed out, surprised at how short of breath she was. The moment had clearly panicked her as she was now sweating, and she felt quite heavy headed. The prospect of tea was most welcome; she was beginning to feel rather unwell. The door opened again but instead of Trondig or Genting, it was the tall frame of Éomer which filled the room, his long hair swept back from his handsome face, his blue eyes sparkling from an exhilarating ride through the storm. Lothíriel’s heart lurched. It was of course conceivable that he had had a change of heart and he had come to arrest her, but she quickly discounted that fleeting thought. His last words to her were true, he had given her father his word he would look after her. Still, he had not needed to come himself. She just stared at him warily as all the possible scenarios flooded into her mind. ‘Lothíriel,’ he spoke at last, the richness of his voice never failing to awaken her senses. She breathed in audibly. ‘I have always hated that name,’ she said, not taking her eyes off him. He smiled at her, seemingly relieved at her levity, ‘Oh I don’t know, I like it very much,’ he replied humorously. She snorted, ‘Flower-garlanded maiden? Me! What were my parents thinking? Mithriel is much better.’ ‘But that doesn’t mean anything,’ Éomer pointed out. ‘Exactly,’ Lothíriel answered with feeling. ‘You can be whatever you want to be with a name with no meaning. There are no expectations of you….’ She had looked away from him as he came to sit in the chair opposite her and she stared pensively into the fire. ‘I have begun to understand more of why you might not trust society’s opinion of you, but whatever opinion you think there is against you, I do not share it. I do not believe that what was presented to us in Aldburg was the full story and, Lothíriel, look at me…’ She turned to face him, ‘… even if it were, I would not care,’ he said firmly. Lothíriel closed her eyes, she was feeling quite feverish now. ‘You should care, Éomer. You are King of Rohan. Your people need to know they can trust you and respect you. It does you harm to be associated with…. with… people... like...,’ she struggled to find the words, ‘me… people of…. dubious moral standing.’ ‘But I do not think you are someone of dubious moral standing, Lothíriel,’ Éomer said softly. She looked at him close to tears, hanging her head down in shame. ‘You of all people should know differently, Éomer,’ she said hoarsely. ‘I have shown myself to have no control around you. How can you trust me if I cannot even trust myself?’ Éomer thought he knew what she was referring to. He had hoped that he had reassured her of his feelings the previous night. He did not know how best to respond, he wasn’t so sure of his own conduct that night in Dunland, only that through the pain he had never known such rapture as he had experienced with her. ‘Who were you protecting that night in Dol Amroth? You should not have your reputation besmirched by something you did not do,’ Éomer insisted, changing subject. ‘What makes you so sure I was protecting anyone?’ she asked him rapidly. ‘Lothíriel, you said to me once that as a friend you did not want to lie to me. I beg you not to start now,’ he implored. ‘After you left, Sandrinë told us that your ‘lover’ had been Galador, which we both know is not possible. I don’t believe you were alone in the garden. Vandan attacked someone else, a man, one of your brothers.’ Lothíriel’s face changed enough for Éomer to know that he had guessed correctly. She looked stony-faced into the fire in silence. ‘Lothíriel,’ he started to say gently. ‘It could have been another,’ she interrupted him defensively. ‘You have said too many times that Galador was your only friend in Dol Amroth, that leaves only your brothers who could possibly be so important to you to go to such lengths to protect,’ he reasoned. ‘I am capable of loving others; you do not know my history as well as you think….’ He sighed and allowed a tense silence to fall between them. ‘I ran away,’ she said suddenly. ‘We were in Minas Tirith, and Denethor and Lady Hannedriel were behaving appallingly to my father and brothers. I had shouted at Denethor and was supposed to be holed up in disgrace in my room as a result, but I disguised myself as a serving boy and sneaked into the Great Hall of Feasts to watch the play… I knew as soon as I saw them that I wanted to perform, so I could be someone else. I could even write my own part into my own play – on stage I could control my destiny, instead of being controlled by it. So, I ran away to join Hella and Vadamir’s troupe, that’s how I know them,’ she explained candidly. There seemed no reason to hide her thoughts from him now that he had heard the worst about her past. ‘There are still some things I have to do before I can decide my path, Éomer. I have to go north. Finglor...’ Éomer inhaled sharply displaying his disapproval, but Lothíriel ploughed on. ‘Finglor has told me I will only become whole when the north reveals its secrets, but if I am lucky enough to be set free, I hope to join them again… Vadamir and Hella.’ Éomer looked at her in frank astonishment. It had not crossed his mind that she would consider such a path. Lothíriel realised she had surprised him. ‘What other options do I have? I’m not exactly suited to a high-born marriage and actresses are not expected to be respectable. I do not want the life of an old maiden aunt, to become withered without experiencing love. I can do this under a different name, no one needs to know who I am. I need not bring shame upon my family... I was so happy the time I spent with them. Finglor was there, I felt safe. I felt valued….’ A few tears trickled down her face. She put her hands to her forehead, her breathing was laboured. ‘Éomer,’ she said seriously, ‘I think I am sick. I feel very cold and yet I can tell I am fevered. Could you ask Wilfran to bring in my medicine sack and a pot of hot water? It’s best you both then leave me here to sleep. You shouldn’t have come. You rode through all that rain to follow me? Why did you come?’ she asked feeling very weak and febrile. Éomer had risen to come over to her and put his hand on her forehead, she was raging hot and sweating profusely. ‘You mean you don’t know? You really don’t know why I would follow you?’ he answered while she slipped away from him sinking back into the chair. He ran to the door to call for Genting. Wilfran was already waiting in the room outside with hot water and Lothíriel’s medicine bag. ‘We didn’t want to disturb you, Sire, but I could see she was sick,’ she said handing Éomer the medicine bag before she picked up the tray to take into the room. ‘I know what she uses for fevers like this and I’ve made up the brew, but she might want some other tonics if you’ll let me take this into her. We’ve made up the fire in Genting’s room for her, when she’s ready. I had him do it as soon as they arrived. Her hair was still wet! She looked ill then, but she wouldn’t rest…’ Éomer held the door open for her while she hobbled slowly inside still speaking to him. ‘I had to tell her I was sick myself just to get her to stay, not that she was fooled. I have put fresh night clothes out for her. I can help her into them if she’s feeling weak… Oh Béma!’ Wilfran almost dropped the tray carrying the hot brew, as Éomer rushed over to a prostrate Lothíriel. ‘Get this brew down her, even if you have to force it down,’ Wilfran ordered Éomer, calling for her son and Trondig. Lothíriel was barely conscious but enough to understand she had to drink the brew, which she did obediently. She asked for her medicine sack and took out a phial. ‘Cloth,’ she rasped. She dripped several drops of the liquid in the phial onto the cloth Genting gave her; the room immediately smelt pungently of fresh air and a strange herb they could not quite place. It was uplifting and energising. Lothíriel held it close to her face. ‘I’ll just stay here, please leave me. I will be fine. I am so sorry to be such a burden. I need to sleep, just leave me here…’ she said weakly before losing consciousness. Éomer picked her up easily and asked Genting to show him to the bedroom they had prepared for her. As he laid her on the bed, he saw the night clothes Wilfran had left out for her. Genting gave Éomer a knowing look. ‘My mother is not going to be able to help Lothíriel into those. Would you prefer me…’ ‘No,’ Éomer interrupted forcefully. Éomer pondered the situation, studying Genting. ‘You know I am not interested….’ Genting continued. ‘It’s still no,’ Éomer said adamantly. ‘It’s not good for her to stay in her riding clothes…’ Genting tried again. ‘I know that,’ Éomer replied through gritted teeth. ‘Alright, I will leave you, but only because I trust you, not because you are my King, but because someone very dear to me told me that you were the most honourable man he knew and because he loved and trusted you beyond all others,’ he said emotionally. ‘I will be downstairs in the room next to the kitchen if you need me. I will make sure the fire is on all night in case you need hot water. I’ll bring up a bowl of water and another cloth to cool her head with now.’ Éomer had started to undress her when Genting returned with some more hot water and a bucket of clean cold water and then he left them alone. It felt strange and yet completely natural to Éomer to be in this position. He felt no embarrassment at her nakedness as he gently removed the rest of her travelling clothes. She began to regain consciousness a little and said his name as he pulled the night shirt over her head. He helped put her arms through the sleeves and as he pulled the shirt down around her, she put her arms around his neck and held her head over his shoulder and whispered, ‘You shouldn’t be here, but don’t leave me,’ before she sank back onto the bed into a fevered sleep. It was a sizeable bed, unusually so, easily large enough to accommodate two of his size. As there was no place for him to sit other than the floor, he lay on the bed with her and held her in his arms as she slept. She tossed and turned frequently murmuring strange words in Quenya. He mopped her brow with the cold water until he felt her fever subside and she became calmer. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- He must have fallen asleep at some point during the night as he was woken by a cock’s crow, before dozing off again until a clear bright dawn filtered through the shutters. As the sun slowly turned the darkness of the room into a demi-light, he checked her brow; the fever had broken, her Elven blood no doubt aiding her abnormally swift recovery. Opening the shutters to let in some fresh air and with it the burgeoning sunlight, his eyes adjusted quickly to properly observe the room for the first time. They alighted immediately on an object on the side table, an object he recognised with a stab to his heart. It was one he had commissioned to be made. He looked around more attentively; the slippers under the bed, he recognised; the boots and clothes in the wardrobe when he opened it were those of one he knew well. The room was one he almost felt he had been in before, so familiar were many of the things in it. He sat on the bed beside the still sleeping Lothíriel, took her hand to his lips and let tears of grief flow gently, accepting his loss through the love he could feel through the room. He went downstairs. Genting was already up waiting for him. ‘How is she?’ he asked calmly. ‘The fever has broken. She will recover quickly, I think. Thank you for keeping her safe,’ he said sincerely, ‘mostly from herself,’ he added with a curt laugh. Genting smiled. They sat in silence over the tea Genting had made. Éomer breached the silence first. ‘My cousin told me a year before he died that he had no intention of marrying and siring children. He was effectively telling me that siring the heirs to the Kingdom was going to be my duty,’ he paused for a while. Genting did not respond. ‘I never wanted this. I never wanted to be King in his stead. In truth I was always so irresponsible and reckless, I assumed I would get killed before him.’ Genting stirred in his seat but remained quiet, his head bowed over his drink. ‘But he told me that he had met someone, and he was truly happy for the first time. He would not be introducing them, either to his father or even to me, not because he was ashamed, but because he wanted no repercussions on the man in the event he himself died, and with Gríma still in the position he was, he was right to have taken that decision. But I always regretted not knowing who it was, because I never knew with whom I could share my grief.’ Neither looked at the other, they sat together in the understanding of the moment. ‘Lothíriel always seems to attract the most interesting people,’ Éomer stated eventually with a quiet laugh. Genting smirked and looked up mischievously. ‘That depends on your definition of interesting. I am not sure most people would agree with you,’ he observed. ‘Might I ask the cause of her distress last night?’ Genting asked changing subject. ‘I knew I had to get her out of Edoras. Cissy and I had become close… not in that way,’ he stressed as Éomer had looked at him enquiringly, ‘… she’s decidedly not my type in that sense but as she reminds me so much of my dearest mother in her manner and intelligence and she was desperate to be with her own people, it was natural that we gravitated to each other as soon as Lothíriel introduced me to ‘the boys’ as she calls us all…’ ‘When did she do that?’ Éomer asked in surprise. ‘Two days after the incident with Joric and Frenhelm. She sent Cissy to find me. Thank Béma she did as I was drinking myself senseless every night. I had no wish to live after losing Théodred. I was determined to survive during the battle on the Pelennor only so I could kill more orcs the longer I survived.’ Éomer was beginning to see Genting in a new light. Had he not seen Genting that night in the beer hall, he would never have guessed that Genting was only interested in men, but equally no one would have suspected Théodred. ‘Lothíriel and Cissy would often come here from Edoras pretending to be visiting my mother, but I knew they were coming here to help me get through this. I’m just thankful it was me on duty last night and not someone who doesn’t understand how she can be – don’t forget I was on the ship that night as well, but Cissy had already confided in me quite a lot when it became clear that they would both be coming to Rohan,’ Genting explained. ‘I was trying to change my assignment so that I could be in Helm’s Deep next week, now that I can speak openly and directly to you, would you be able to assign me and Trondig as her personal guards while she is there. I know that Finglor is expected but it might be helpful nevertheless.’ Éomer heaved a huge sigh of relief. ‘Genting, it is an express order that you and Trondig become her personal guards while she remains in Rohan. As to what distressed her yesterday, what do you know of a tragic incident in Dol Amroth where a boy was killed and Lothíriel took the blame to protect one of her brothers. Did you hear tell of this?’ ‘No, nothing as specific as that but I do know that Aragorn ordered her brothers out of Minas Tirith for the duration of Ottakar’s visit as Tuor couldn’t be trusted not to kill them if he came across them. There is no love lost between Galador and Erchirion though. Possibly because he’s married to Galador’s twin sister. Galador and his sister utterly loathe each other. I don’t particularly like gossip, Sire, and I’m afraid my lot can be exceptionally bitchy… I tend not to listen to it.’ ‘You are a wise man, Genting,’ said Éomer with feeling. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Lothíriel had been adamant that he returned to Edoras as soon as she had woken. She made the excuse that she knew how busy he was with affairs of state, but the truth was that she felt too weak to deal with her feelings for him with any semblance of dignity. Fevered though she had been, she had still heard every word he had said before she lost consciousness. She had no understanding of love between couples. Her mind cut out all memory of her mother and with it all knowledge of how love had been between her parents. She had no experience of what such love meant. Her beloved ‘Auntie’ Lady Umbar was already a widow when Lothíriel was born, her Aunt Ivriniel had never married, only Vadamir and Hella had given her an idea of how such love could be. The pairing of Galador’s parents, Belegond and Melian, had admittedly endured through her childhood, giving her a horror of the bondage of such a union. She had been reluctant to confront her feelings for Éomer and when she did, the turmoil it created within her made her feel sick. Her cynical observation of men’s behaviour in pursuit of physical gratification had been more than informed by her ‘interesting’ friendships. To her shame, her desire for Éomer was too overpowering for her to see clearly through the maelstrom of confusion and doubt. She had thrown herself at him at every opportunity. King and man of honour he may be, but he was still a man, and as such could not be blamed for responding to her desires. She was not naïve; she knew she was attractive, even if she felt she was too scarred both emotionally and physically to be worthy of such a match as Éomer. She assumed that he would not say no to something so readily offered, notwithstanding his great friendship with her father and hers with his sister. That he had never mentioned her unseemly behaviour to anyone she had put down to his sense of honour and kindness. But his words to her, his care of her… She feared for him if he was beginning to love her. He was so honourable he would not himself see the perils of it. And then there was the prophecy, the doom that lay upon her and her mother’s family. The key to unlocking her past may lie in the North but her destiny lay in Sennebar, the impenetrable fortress of the Astari, far to the south of Umbar. When she had tried to find Finglor through her dance to the starlight in Aldburg, he had heard her calling but he had not responded through the light from the North but from the South. He had seemed too far from her to be sure of being with her for her torment and the tempest of her emotions accelerated within her. Was she simply a child clinging on to the safest harbour, or could she become free to forge her own destiny? Which was Éomer to her? He deserved more than just to be the former. He deserved far better than one as damaged as she was, and Rohan deserved a queen who was free. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Lothíriel stayed with Genting and his mother for two days, receiving separate visits from Éowyn and Delwine. Delwine had arrived in Edoras late the same evening, hours after Éomer had been informed of Lothíriel’s whereabouts by Trondig and had left with him. Éowyn had been waiting for him impatiently to hear more of the story and was outraged that Lothíriel had been placed in such a position when she heard what he had learned. She set off to see her friend as soon as Éomer had arrived back the next morning. Before she left, Éomer cautioned Éowyn about tackling her on the subject of Vandan but asked her instead to find out more of Lothíriel’s hopes for her future ‘with tact’ he had emphasised. Éowyn had riled at that slur on her capabilities which caused her brother to laugh and give her a hug. He was becoming more as he had been before their father died, less reserved and more playful. She had noticed this whenever he was near Lothíriel, and she was curious as to what had happened the night before which had made him so much more loving and relaxed in one sense and yet also more concerned. She made the ride to the farmhouse in well under an hour despite carrying a full saddle pack of extra clothes for her friend. Given Éomer’s almost buoyant mood, she was disappointed to find Lothíriel so withdrawn. She could not understand what was going on between the two of them. ‘Vadamir and Hella seem to care very deeply for you,’ Éowyn probed as they were walking together to a viewpoint Wilfran had suggested to them to visit to get a breath of fresh air. ‘Aunt Morwyn invited them to her house for tea. They told her that you have known them since you were thirteen and that you have been looking after them in one of your estates near Elfhaven. You still write plays together. Is that what you’d like to do once you have finished your task for Aragorn?’ Lothíriel was pensive and silent. They were coming to the top of the hill from which the expanse of rolling hills of Westfold sloping down before them while the towering snow-capped tops of the White Mountains lay behind them. ‘Did Éomer tell you to ask me this?’ Lothíriel asked her bluntly after savouring the view for a while. Éowyn was not easily deterred. ‘Lothíriel, I am a friend and will soon be your cousin, I am naturally curious as to what you want to do next. I would be happy, as would Faramir, that you came to live with us in Ithilien, although I fear that might be too boring for you. There is so much you can do wherever you settle. I would like to know in what way I, we, all of us who care about you, can do to help.’ Lothíriel nodded her acceptance of Éowyn’s point. ‘What I never understood, Éowyn, is why, of all the rumours put out with such glee about me, this one was buried. It never got out of the Palace. The one truly heinous crime that I stood openly accused of and I admitted to was brushed under the rug. It never made any sense…. I have suspicions but no proof. And without proof….’ she tailed off. She had taken Éowyn completely by surprise. ‘It was no crime to act in self-defence, Lothíriel, nor as I believe to be the case, in defence of another,’ Éowyn reminded her robustly. ‘Perhaps you are not as friendless in Dol Amroth as you supposed?’ she suggested. Lothíriel snorted dismissively. ‘No,’ she said harshly. ‘That was not the reason, but let’s not talk about this. It’s not… productive.’ She had hesitated to find the right word. Éowyn was no closer to fulfilling Éomer’s charge as they began to wend their way downhill. ‘You have always said you will go north for an extended period in the new year. I assume Finglor will go with you, would he take Maela with him as he did this time? No Mearas has ever been so devoted to another unless it were Shadowfax to Gandalf, and Lothíriel, you should know that none in Aldburg believed the story about you once they saw Geldsheen come to your call. The Mearas will not suffer anyone impure to touch them, never mind come to them like he did to you. We, who know you, never doubted you, but neither now do the townsfolk. I fear more that if you go back, you will be overwhelmed by well-wishers rather than by suspicion.’ Lothíriel had stopped and crumpled onto a nearby rock in distress. Éowyn immediately dropped down beside her to put her arm around her. ‘I am sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, I thought it would cheer you to know this,’ she cried concerned at her friend’s sudden fragility. Misery seeped from Lothíriel, it was a profound misery Éowyn recognised and feared ever going back to. ‘Every time I feel happy and I start to feel at home, something bad happens to those I most care about,’ Lothíriel said despairingly. ‘I am cursed, Éowyn. I fear what could happen to you and Faramir if I come to stay with you in Ithilien. Everything I touch is blighted somehow. It is the prophecy; there is a task I must do to bring this evil to an end. Sauron was Aragorn’s destiny, yes, but not for me and Tuor, not for my family. I cannot think of a future yet. And I most certainly don’t want to drag you or anyone from Rohan into this. My brothers have already suffered enough by proxy. This was not their fight, nor is it yours or Faramir’s. It’s not even my father’s, which is why he feels so helpless. Finglor said it will be decided within a year of Sauron’s fall, and he will then leave by the sea as his time on Middle-earth will be over.’ Éowyn was shocked. She had thought that the prophecy was nonsense when she had first heard tell of it, but Faramir told her that Aragorn gave it credence and Legolas had privately warned Éomer to pay it heed. ‘I had always hoped I would go north with Finglor, where he had spent so much of his time. He tells me that to unlock the path to my future I must find the key to open the secrets of my past and the key lies in the North. Much as I have always wanted to come to Rohan, I wished to go north after King Théoden’s burial so I could be there with Finglor, but everyone else wanted me to stay here first and I understood why that made sense. Finglor didn’t tell anyone else why the North was so important to me, not even Aragorn, as I didn’t want anyone to know in case, in case….’ she sighed heavily, ‘in case I failed to find the key. In case I never heal. I don’t want people to pity me. I don’t want people to judge me but if I don’t find a way to heal, I don’t want to be Lothíriel of Dol Amroth. I would rather go somewhere no one knows who I am and start a new life. It’s cowardly, I know. It’s what I was doing when I ran away with Vadamir and Hella.’ Lothíriel’s sadness overwhelmed Éowyn. She finally understood more deeply than she thought even Faramir had understood the difficulties Lothíriel had had to face and was still facing. She now understood Lothíriel’s unwillingness to show her love for Éomer. Lothíriel’s distress tore into her and compassion welled up inside her, not just for Lothíriel but all those who had been drawn into her whirlwind. She understood at last why those closest to Lothíriel had told her that they did not think Lothíriel was ready to marry. She felt sick at heart at the conversation she would have to have with her brother later and she was not such a fool not to realise that this was why Lothíriel was confiding in her. She left Lothíriel to return to Edoras somewhat downcast and went to have supper privately with her brother. ‘Aye, Éowyn, she had already tried to tell me of this.’ Éomer told her after hearing her report of her time with Lothíriel that day. ‘Legolas would not repeat the prophecy to me in detail either. He just said that a Doom had been laid on the family by one of the oldest Seers of the Elves and she would not be free until it was lifted. I have known this longer than you think. Finglor himself told me the first night I met him that in order to keep her, I would have to let her go. I am prepared for this. I just wish I knew that she loved me enough to consider me as her future,’ he ended. |