Cushions

Having made the decision to give Éomer a firm push towards Lothíriel, Éowyn found herself frustrated the next day as Aragorn, Faramir, and Legolas had arranged that both the royal Rohirric siblings ride to Ithilien with them. Along with a dozen Gondorian guards, Éothain (with half a dozen of Éomer’s personal guard, not to be outdone), Cwengyth to prevent Éowyn being the only female in the party, and then, when the Lady Galadriel and her husband asked if they also could come, half a dozen Elven warriors.

The sons of Elrond appeared, as the party left the city, and one of them commented that they thought they would cope without personal guards as they expected everyone else would be willing to share. A number of remarks in the language of the Elves greeted this and Faramir explained that Aragorn had suggested that they were well able to care for themselves, their grandfather had agreed, whereas Legolas had promised that, should anything untoward occur, they could always hide behind him…

It occurred to Éowyn that she would probably need to learn Sindarin if she was to make her home here. About five minutes later Éomer pointed out the same thing to her with a rather smug expression; she chose not to rise to the bait, simply nodded and changed the subject.

The ride was a pleasure in itself as, once away from the city, they were able to let the horses gallop for a little. There was a degree of impromptu racing as Elven steeds were matched against Rohirric ones. Whilst Éomer’s riders, and the Elven warriors, were not in the least nonplussed by this behaviour from those they were meant to keep safe, the Gondorian guards looked rather surprised. Especially when their king urged his mount forward.

As they approached the crossing point of the river the party reformed and slowed to a walk. Éowyn was amused to see a number of interactions where money changed hands; even the serene Lord Celeborn seemed to have been wagering on the outcomes – and won.

Ferrying the large party across the Anduin took some time but, once they were all across, Faramir formally welcomed Éomer and Éowyn, and Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel, to his princedom. Éowyn looked around her; at the cluster of buildings at the ferry point which would, no doubt, soon become a flourishing village again; at the undulating ground and the clumps of trees; the more distant hills and dark patches of woodland, and thought it different to her home, but a place where she could breathe more easily than in Minas Tirith.

They stopped for lunch – a rather pleasant picnic – and then rode on.

That the land had suffered was clear as they continued. The Elves spoke quietly to themselves, even the warriors joining in the conversation at times, pointing at small discoloured streams, broken trees, and other signs of damage. Éomer fell into conversation with Aragorn about the similarities and differences between the damage here and within the Mark, Éothain and Cwengyth rode close to each other, deep in conversation, and Éowyn got a chance to talk, almost privately, to Faramir.

They spoke of their feelings; unaltered, nay, stronger than ever. Of how this land would need nurturing; the Princedom would not just be a courtesy title but would require Faramir’s presence here.

“Excellent,” Éowyn said. She added that she would be much happier here than in Minas Tirith, although she would do her utmost to ensure that she did not make him ashamed of her in court.

At that last remark Faramir returned to words of love, and reassurance that he could never be ashamed of her, and Éowyn basked in his compliments and barely notice the land around them until, as they approached the crest of a hill, he nudged his mount even closer and then stopped.

Below them was a camp. A very elegant camp. A camp already bustling with servants. And a little beyond the camp was a building site.

In this glade the party would spend the night and here, too, Éowyn and Faramir would spend much of their future lives. Here there had been a manor house, in years gone by, and it was being restored and rebuilt for the Prince and his bride.

Éowyn looked at the setting, the building beginning to take shape, and thought it would make a very good home. She wanted to get down there and look at the layout, the plans for the house, and make sure the design included a suitable stable block. She also hoped Faramir wasn’t expecting to wait until the house was ready before they married.

Later, when they had eaten and Ithilien was tipped with silver – truly the land of the moon – Faramir took her hand and led her away from the fire and the lanterns. Éomer could not have objected, as they were still within the confines of the camp and the guards, but he was deep in a conversation with Lord Celeborn and his grandsons and didn’t even seem to notice. Éowyn wasn’t totally certain but she thought Lady Galadriel not only smiled, as they drifted away from the others, but made a small ‘shooing’ gesture in their direction; an unexpected ally, but a welcome one.

Later still, and Éowyn retired to the tent she would share with Cwengyth. Her friend joined her only after Éowyn had washed and dressed for bed. Cwengyth had reassured her that she didn’t mind sharing with Éowyn whilst Éothain shared Éomer’s tent but she admitted, to Éowyn’s amusement, that it was as well that Éomer had not chosen to retire early…

And then Cwengyth sat on Éowyn’s bed and demanded to know all about her tryst with Faramir. Cwengyth only retired when she had been reassured that the Prince of Ithilien was a most accomplished kisser and, although both he and Éowyn had remained fully clothed (there were guards on patrol, after all), his caresses had certainly made Éowyn short of breath. And, under his tunic, his riding breeches were certainly tight enough for Éowyn to be able to say, with some certainly, that what lay within seemed of adequate size and responded clearly to Faramir holding her close.

In fact, between caresses, Éowyn had made it clear to Faramir that she hoped his plans did not include a betrothal that would last until the house was finished. She would, she told him, prefer to live in one of the tents, than wait that long before sharing his bed. He seemed a little taken aback by her forthrightness - but it had most certainly not dampened his ardour.

……………………

Éomer had not been unaware of his sister disappearing from the group around the campfire with Faramir; he was, after all, primarily a warrior and aware of his surroundings. But there was no point in trying to prevent the couple spending time in some degree of privacy. This was not a place to make a fuss; it was Faramir’s fiefdom not Éomer’s and, truth to tell, had it been a Rider who was courting Éowyn they would certainly have spent a lot more time alone together by this stage.

The period they had spent apart, and her involvement with running The Mark, seemed to have done nothing to reduce Éowyn’s determination to leave home and marry the new Prince of Ithilien. A few more months spent at a distance from each other might achieve it, possibly, but Éomer was beginning to doubt this. He could better imagine his sister running a household in this place than in Mundburg; making decisions concerning the people who would live in Ithilien, talking things through with Faramir just as she had with Éomer during these last months… and he felt a pang of envy.

It became more than just a pang when he was pulled back into the conversation around him by the words of one of the Sons of Elrond (Elrohir, Éomer thought, as he had heard the one in the grey shirt addressed as Elladan by Lord Celeborn, and he should know).

“…well she is rather beautiful, she speaks Sindarin, and there is said to be elven blood in her line.”

What? One of the Half-Elves was interested in Lothíriel? But… but…! She’s mine!

He was surprised at how vehemently that thought had come to him. He had been sure that he had successfully schooled himself to ignore her beauty (and her personality, and her riding skills) because his duty to his people, and the House of Éorl, meant that he simply could not marry her. But the very idea of her being courted by Elrohir… he resisted the urge to punch that rather ethereal face but it took him a little while to shake the image of the two of them together from his mind.

Of course, had he been as good as reading Elven faces as his fellow monarch, and less distracted by what he had heard, Éomer might have noticed the nods and slight smiles that passed between the twins, and even their grandparents, as he tried to pull himself together and take part in the conversation, which had moved on.

……………………

They did not arrive back in the city until the next evening. Éowyn had been reassured by the trip to Ithilien, but it had brought her two days closer to the date when the Rohirrim would leave to return to Édoras, and she still hadn’t worked out how to nudge her brother in the direction of Princess Lothíriel.

Lothíriel was also counting the days down until the guests would leave. She couldn’t quite decide whether she wished the day of their departure was much further away, or that it could just be tomorrow and be over.

A couple of times she had noticed Éomer looking at her when he thought she was unaware, but he had said nothing to her that he could not have said to her sister-in-law or, for that matter, to any of her brothers. If he were to remain in the city for longer, she thought, perhaps she could be like some of the other young women of court and flutter her eyelashes at him whilst hanging on his every word.

Mourning for Boromir (people seemed to prefer not to think about mourning her uncle), and an innate sense of decency, prevented her wearing dresses cut so low that her nipples were barely covered and then, as some of the others had resorted to, pushing herself as close to Éomer King as possible. But, to be honest, those devices did not appear to be successful anyway.

If he simply went away, quickly, and never returned, then in time, she thought, she might no longer go to sleep thinking of him and might eventually begin to feel something for one of the noblemen who looked at her covetously.

On the day after the party returned from Ithilien, Éowyn and Lothíriel had a chance to catch up with each other, as they were both invited to spend the day with Queen Arwen and her grandmother, whilst the two kings, the Steward, and the Prince of Dol Amroth spent the day discussing politics.

Lothíriel rather liked Queen Arwen. Even though the elleth was centuries old she was new to both married life and Minas Tirith and, whilst Lothíriel could give no advice on the former, she was happy to answer any questions about the latter.

In view of that recently married status, and the relationship of Éowyn and Faramir, the subject of romance, courtship and marriage cropped up in the conversation alongside other subjects, such as Legolas’ plan to bring Elves to help restore Ithilien and how quickly the land of the Mark, as Éowyn called her homeland, would be able to sustain the population again.

“It is so often the womenfolk who need to make adjustments,” Lady Galadriel said. “Doubtless even now there are women, in the farms of both Gondor and Rohan, who are taking up tasks that have always been men’s work to make up for the loss of so many men. On the farmland of the Pelennor I see women mending fences and even turning their hand to thatching.”

She paused, seemed to gaze at nothing for a moment, and then continued. “And we so often leave our own lands, our own kin, when we marry.”

Lothíriel thought this remark must surely be about Queen Arwen but, it seemed, it was more general and yet also more personal.

“Look at me,” her ladyship went on, with a slight smile, “I am part Noldor, part Teleri.”

Éowyn looked as if this meant nothing to her, and Lady Galadriel must have noticed as she added, “My father’s people are miners and metal workers, builders in marble… my mother’s people live by the sea and spend much of their time in boats.

“My beloved, however, is a Sindar and, as such, has an affinity with the land, especially with forests… And so I am now known to all as the Lady of the Golden Wood.”

That small smile again. Then she continued, “I am sure you will cope well, my dear,” nodding at the queen, “and, in your case, Aragorn also has to learn a new way of life. Together you can ensure that you do not let the old ways of those who have ruled for many years stifle you both. And you will have Éowyn for company for I see that you will do well together.”

She turned to Éowyn, “Ithilien will suit you well,” she said. “And there are times, in such a court as this, when an icy look down your nose will remind those who forget that you are the sister of a king, the granddaughter of a lady of this very court… and the Slayer of the Witch-King.”

Lothíriel felt a little slighted that the Lady did not seem to think she would be good company for the queen. She was only a little younger than Éowyn, and knew more about court intrigue from her uncle’s day than that uncle, or her father, might have suspected.

But then Lady Galadriel turned those almond-shaped eyes in her direction and seemed to study her for long moments.

“You will adapt well, I think, when you leave your father’s house for somewhere so very different. It is, perhaps, not altogether a bad thing that Éowyn will not be at your side… for you will find your feet in your own way. Yes – I think you will love and be loved, and be happy amongst your husband’s people.”

Before Lothíriel could think of what to reply, her Ladyship had completely changed the subject.

“Arwen, dear, ring for tea. Do you have any of the cake that Sam Gamgee was teaching your pastry chef to make? I must ask him to teach Gollwen.”

And the moment had passed.

…………………..

‘Well nothing could have been clearer,’ Éowyn reflected as she dressed for dinner. She had learnt not to think of Lady Galadriel as the Witch of Dwimordene, but she had no reason to doubt that Her Ladyship had mystical talents, and she clearly predicted that Lothíriel would marry Éomer. She had better get on with giving him a nudge.

‘Perhaps I misunderstood,’ Lothíriel was thinking at much the same time. ‘I heard what I wanted. She might have simply meant that my husband’s people will live in the hills twenty miles from here and so be nowhere near the sea. She might have meant that I would not have someone I already knew to be a friend, and so be unlike Queen Arwen and Éowyn, rather than mean Éowyn herself. She might have meant… But oh I hope her fabled foresight means I might get what I desire… If he would only ask me!’

…………………..

“Come in, Éomer,” Éowyn called, when he knocked on her door to escort her down to dinner with Aragorn and Arwen.

“Now – sit!” And like a well trained dog, he did. For about two seconds before he realised he had, and objected.

“No,” Éowyn said. “Just sit right there, for one minute, and tell me what you think of Lothíriel.”

The question was so unexpected that he almost blurted out an honest answer. But blustered instead about not understanding why she might think he thought anything of Prince Imrahil’s daughter.

“Éomer,” his sister said, giving him a stare so reminiscent of their mother that he felt like a small child, caught out in some wrongdoing. “Éomer, she is a beautiful young woman, she has a good seat, and I have seen the way you look at her. Why do you not think of her as a future wife?”

Her reasons were so like, but unlike, Éothain’s reasons why he should consider Lothíriel as a future wife that he almost laughed. Trying not to meant that he stayed silent for a second too long to stop his sister, and she went on.

“She knows how to order a household – and she understood exactly which supplies we would find most useful… oh! I didn’t mean to mention that. But anyway – she would be a perfect wife for you.”

Éomer could see an escape. “What do you mean about supplies?”

“Nothing. I will tell you later. But only if you tell me why you don’t think Lothíriel would make you a good queen.”

“Even if I was to think her desirable, which I am not admitting…”

“Éomer. I have seen you find Alfilda desirable, and even I can tell that Lothíriel has a more womanly body, a nicer voice, and she doesn’t smell of stale pee!”

He was caught between denying that he had ever tried to seduce the flat-chested daughter of the tanner, defending Alfilda who couldn’t help that she lived on top of her father’s workplace so always did have a faint aroma of the tanning lye, and admitting that Lothíriel was, indeed more desirable.

“Lothíriel…” Éowyn prompted.

“Éowyn, she probably wouldn’t want to leave Gondor and her family, she doesn’t speak our language, she is used to this sort of court with formal clothes and formal dancing, buildings of stone with marble floors, and rooms that are as big as the great hall of Meduseld with nothing in but statues, and silk cushions…”

His sister gave him the look which said that he was being stupid – she had it perfected.

“She doesn’t actually live in the King’s house. You’ve been to their house here – it feels like a home. And she is used to moving from the city to Dol Amroth anyway – travelling between Édoras and Dol Amroth might take longer but I’m sure she’d cope – and she can learn our language. Probably much easier than I can learn bloody Sindarin! As for cushions,” she rolled her eyes, “if she didn’t like the ones we have she could bring her own. And if she really doesn’t want to move to the Mark she can just tell you so, and turn you down.

“But I am sure she would say yes if you were to ask her. You look at her as if she is a beautiful filly and I have seen her looking at you in much the same way. Well, not as if you were a filly, but certainly as if she wouldn’t mind riding you… oh! That’s not quite… um…”

‘Aha!’ thought Éomer, seeing a chance to escape the conversation. Except that the sudden mental image of lying naked with Lothíriel above him was too distracting for him to think quickly enough.

Éowyn charged on quickly, presumably to distract him from that very thought.

“So why don’t you think she would make you a good wife and be a good Queen for the Mark?”

He gave in.

“Éowyn, you are right.”

That took her by surprise anyway.

“I cannot think of anyone I have yet met who I would rather have as a wife than Lothíriel. But I have a responsibility to the House of Éorl; I will need an heir. And so I dare not ask her to marry me.”

Silence. For almost three heartbeats. Then an explosion.

“Éomer Éomundsson what on earth are you talking about? Why would Lothíriel not be willing to bed with you and give you heirs?”

“Her women’s problems, of course.”

“Her what?”

“I know she was unable to leave the city, when all the other women and children did, because she was confined to the Houses of Healing with women’s problems. How can I marry someone who is probably barren when I am the king?”

He actually heard a faint catch in his own voice as he said those last few words. He hoped Éowyn hadn’t noticed. Or if she had that she would realise how hard it was for him to not fall deeply in love with the Princess of Dol Amroth.

Except that Éowyn looked as if she might laugh.

“Who told you she had ‘women’s problems’?” she asked.

Éomer thought about it. “Merry.”

“Merry? Are you sure?”

Éomer cast his mind back to that conversation at Cormallen. He remembered that when he asked the hobbit about Lothíriel’s pile of cushions he had blushed so deeply that Éomer was sure even his toes were red. And then…

“Um - Merry said that Lothíriel had been indisposed so badly that she couldn’t sit down. And he blushed. He stuttered. What else could it have been other than women’s problems?”

“Oh, Éomer,” his sister said, “have you really been trying to ignore her attractions all this time because you were putting the continuation of the House of Éorl before yourself?”

He decided not to mention the weeks when he had incorrectly thought Lothíriel unsuitable primarily because she didn’t ride. Éowyn could just assume it had always been to do with needing a fertile wife.

But rather than being sympathetic Éowyn began to laugh.

“Oh Éomer. You stupid, stupid, man. Imagine asking a hobbit. If only I’d been there…”

As that sounded almost like an apology he wondered why she was still trying to laugh and talk at the same time.

“Lothíriel did not have ‘women’s problems’, you great lump. She had a badly burnt backside!”

………………..