Live Journal FeedFor that matter, Éomer was a king; and although some might think this would mean he could do what he wanted, he knew this was certainly not true. He did manage to spend some time talking with Lothíriel, when they rode out across the recovering Pelennor, but it was not the most romantic of trysts as they were accompanied not only by half a dozen members of his own éored but also by Amrothos. Not that Éomer had anything against Lothíriel’s brother, he was good company, but his presence made for restrained courtship.
But at least, he thought afterwards, they had spoken of her family, and his too, so he could cross that off his mental ‘wooing’ list.
Dancing, too, could be crossed off the ‘to-do’ list. It had been a moment, oddly, to remember again that he was here to collect the body of his uncle; for it had been Théoden, son of a lady of Gondor, who had insisted that Théodred and his cousins learn something of the dances of that country.
He had hoped that Lothíriel might be persuaded to join the entourage of the King and Queen of Gondor as they accompanied the Rohirrim on this journey to take Théoden home. To be honest he didn’t think she would take much persuasion. But Aragorn was leaving Imrahil in charge of Mundburg, and his daughter-in-law had returned to Dol Amroth with her husband and so, even had Lothíriel wanted to come, she was needed to act as her father’s hostess.
Éomer would happily have suggested that Aragorn leave his Steward to oversee Gondor, and bring Prince Imrahil and his family along instead, but Aragorn seemed to positively encourage the relationship between Faramir and Éowyn. It had been his decision that Faramir should be a member of the party who would travel to Édoras as, he said, it would be good for Faramir to see something of his future wife’s homeland.
Then on the last afternoon before they would leave, when Éomer had planned to have a few quiet words with Imrahil, he was, instead, waylaid by Éowyn and Faramir who had come to see him together. Mindful of the need to escape them so that he could seek out Imrahil, Éomer agreed, with very little argument, to them declaring their betrothal in Édoras once Théoden King was laid in his barrow. (Ever afterwards Éowyn thought the obvious love between herself and Faramir was behind Éomer agreeing to this so easily when, previously, he had wanted them to wait for at least a year… Éomer never disillusioned her; she got on well enough with Lothíriel that she needed no extra reason to like her!)
The conversation with Imrahil was, of necessity, short.
“I do not want to ask you for your daughter’s hand in marriage,” Éomer said almost at the beginning, “for we of The Mark believe a couple should come together to ask the blessing of their parents on any betrothal, and so the agreement is first reached between the two involved.”
Imrahil did not look particularly surprised by this fairly blunt introduction of the subject and so Éomer continued.
“But I have come to realise in these last few days how much I would like the opportunity to court Lothíriel. If it is normal in Gondor for your permission to be required for this, then I am asking for it, my friend.”
Imrahil smiled slightly. “Requesting such permission is usually considered polite… And, provided Lothíriel is happy, I will willingly give it.”
“Thank you. To be perfectly honest I have made some shift towards courting her already, and she seems happy enough. I was more worried that, if I didn’t have time to talk to you about it, some noble or another might ask you for her hand before I got the chance. And I know little enough of such things here that it occurred to me you might accept on her behalf if it seemed a good offer.”
“Such a way of arranging the marriage of eligible daughters is not unheard of,” Imrahil said. “But, personally, I would ask Lothíriel’s opinion should such an offer arise. And, knowing you want the opportunity to court her, I promise you I will not encourage any other suit.”
The prince picked up the glass of wine he had poured at the outset of the interview and raised it to Éomer.
“I can think of no better prospective son-in-law. As a mere prince it might have been less than diplomatic of me to turn down the king of our closest allies, if you had asked me for Lothíriel in marriage, no matter what her feelings on the subject. But, in this, I think the ways of Rohan have much merit and I wish you well in your courtship. It will give me great pleasure to agree should you and my daughter ever stand together before me to ask my permission for your wedding.”
“Thank you,” said Éomer, more relieved than he hoped he appeared. “Although when I will get the time for this courtship I don’t know – but it is reassuring to know Éowyn will not read out a letter from her friend telling of her impending marriage to someone else.”
………………..
Éomer had been quite right when he had told Lothíriel that there was too little time left for a courtship before he would return to his own lands.
But, after the conversation on the balcony of The King’s House, they had ridden together, danced together, and found time to walk together simply talking. In fact Éomer seemed to find quite a lot of time to spend with her. Perhaps, she thought, it was because he had devoted so much of his first two weeks to official business. That was, more or less, the reason he had given for hardly speaking to her during that period, despite no longer thinking her averse to riding.
But she had her doubts. She wondered if there was someone in Rohan he would prefer to marry but she would not be an acceptable queen, and so he had decided to court Lothíriel as a reasonable substitute. Or whether he had been warned against marrying someone from outside Rohan, as his grandfather had, but had found her so desirable he had decided to defy such advice.
She wasn’t sure which would be the better reason. Either would mean some people in Rohan being unhappy about their courtship. There was, however, no point in worrying about problems that may not exist, she told herself, firmly. Better to remember the look on Éomer’s face this morning when she had stood with her father to see the cavalcade set off.
Better still to remember his kiss last night.
After the formal dinner during which they had been seated together, to Éomer’s apparent amusement, he had exhibited, again, his skill at cutting his chosen mare from the herd. Despite about half the females in attendance trying to waylay him, and her proceeding around the room in conversation with Elrohir, Éomer had approached them near an open door and, in no time, she had been walking arm in arm with him along a quiet corridor.
At this point in reliving the moment it occurred to Lothíriel that Elrohir was one of the tallest people in the room apart from his fellow elves; he could easily have kept an eye on the direction Éomer was taking…. (About this time, too, on the road away from Minas Tirith, Éomer was thinking something similar and concluding that perhaps he had a friend, rather than a rival, in Elrond’s son.)
As most people who moved away from the main rooms were going outdoors, to admire the city by moonlight, the corridor leading towards the royal chambers had not been busy. Along it were alcoves with seats in them where attendants could be within reach whenever they were called upon.
“Lothíriel,” Éomer had said, taking her hand and drawing her down onto one of these seats, “when we say goodbye in front of a multitude of people tomorrow I have no right to do more than kiss your hand. But I would rather have more than that to remember over the next months.”
Sometimes there was no advantage to being coy, Lothíriel had thought, so she had moved her face a little closer and said “Me too.”
The kiss had been most satisfactory. She had been a little unsure how you knew whose nose would go where but it proved no problem and, when his hand had moved to her back to pull her closer, it had been only natural to put her own arms around his neck. And, although she hadn’t been sure about the concept, when her sister-in-law Maraina had mentioned it, her mouth had opened naturally so that their tongues touched.
Definitely something much more memorable than the polite touch of lips to hand, witnessed by what felt like half the inhabitants of the city, this morning, although the way his eyes had lingered on her had been very satisfying.
‘Now,’ she thought, hugging a cushion to her chest, ‘would it be unladylike to write just yet, or should I wait for a letter first?’
………………..
A bundle of letters arrived with the first messenger from Édoras since the departure of the great procession of kings, lords and ladies, both of the First-born and the Second-born. They were taken, of course, to Father first but, only a little later, a servant arrived with two for Lothíriel; one was many pages long, the other much shorter. The thicker letter was addressed in Éowyn’s familiar hand.
Lothíriel studied the other for a moment or two. The writing was firm, unembellished, but looked confident. The seal of the royal House of Rohan was unbroken; Father was clearly happy for Éomer to write to her.
On having read it, Lothíriel was less so.
Dear Lothíriel,
I hope this letter finds you somewhere more comfortable than I am.
We are still on the road to Édoras, we move slowly. Éothain takes his role as my adjutant seriously and had made provision for me to write as we camp, and Éowyn pointed out that we will soon meet the message rider.
We approach the border between Gondor and The Mark and soon I will welcome my brother-in-arms to my lands as a fellow king. It would have been good to have you riding with us, to also welcome you to The Mark, although I hope to do so in the future. Both you and your esteemed father, of course.
Once we reach Édoras we will lay Théoden King in his barrow, which lies ready, then I will be crowned. It will be a simpler ceremony than Aragorn’s but I would have liked you to have seen it. I think I will be the first King of The Mark to have elves at his crowning.
I am glad to look back on the time we had in each other’s company in Mundburg. I hold such memories of you and your family dear.
Yours, Éomer.
‘Really,’ she thought, ‘he could have written that to Amrothos! I suppose he is not used to writing for, as Éowyn told me, the Rohirrim prefer the spoken word as it can convey meaning better than lines on a page. Perhaps I am meant to read more into his wishes that I was there to see him crowned, or that he will remember time spent with me – and my family.’
However, Éowyn’s letter, although it must also have been written in camp, was much thicker and might make up, in part, for the scant words her brother had written. In this, Lothíriel was quite right, there were three pages written in her friend’s hand. But as she unfolded them more pages, folded separately, lay on top. These were addressed to her in the same firm hand as the letter from Éomer! Strange…
She opened them first.
My dear Lothíriel,
Éowyn tells me the heads of Gondorian houses open all the letters that come in and that I should be careful not to write anything to you that your father might not approve, or he may not allow you to read them. However, she also tells me your father does not read her missives to you.
She says this is because she is trustworthy and, when she weds your cousin, she will be one of your close family. I think it more likely that he finds her hand distressing to read as he is such an elegant gentleman. However, she suggested I might wish to take advantage of this and, of course, I do.
I find I wish to be honest with you, and hope that you are not insulted; remember we are but simple folk in The Mark and prone to saying what we think.
‘Ah,’ thought Lothíriel, ‘this is more like Éomer’s voice. Although I do not really think he is in any way ‘simple’ when it comes to expressing himself. I wonder what he is going to write that he fears might insult me?’
She read on.
Éothain tells me I am fortunate to have a tent to myself. Éowyn, he says, suggested I should share one with your cousin that we may get to know each other better. Fortunately Éothain dismissed the idea as being unsuitable to both my station, as King, and Faramir’s, as Prince of Ithilien, for I have no wish to get to know what the Lord Steward wears in bed, nor whether or not he snores. But it is a large tent for one and I thought, last night, that had you ridden with us I would have happily shared it with you!
Oh. Oh my! Lothíriel had never read a letter that made her blush… until now.
See. I will have shocked you. But not too much I hope. If I get no reply, or one written formally from the Princess of Dol Amroth to the King of The Mark, I will know that I have insulted you. But I hope not. For you may know that no-one in Édoras will read our personal correspondence; should any advisor attempt it he will be reduced not to stable-hand, for that is a position of honour, but to collector of the night soil of Meduseld.
Lothíriel laughed out loud. Yes, she had been a little shocked, but only that he felt free to put such a thought in writing. Knowing he had thought it actually made her happy, and feel wanted. There would certainly be no stiff formal letter of reply.
As I said in my official letter to you (which was harder to write than is this one), we travel slowly. I know, from a slip of Éowyn’s tongue that I did not forget, that we have you to thank for this. For, after dire threats on my behalf, she explained why she had mentioned you and ‘supplies’ together.
I should be insulted. But my people need food to survive the coming winter and a king must sometimes swallow his pride.
If she had needed any reassurance about this man who was courting her, Lothíriel thought, that sentence would have given it.
And so we travel at the pace not of our riding horses, nor of the team we brought to pull the wain that carries Théoden King home, nor even at the pace of the horses pulling the wains that carry our last few wounded home who cannot sit a horse, poor men. No. We travel at the pace of the oxen that pull the wains loaded with supplies and the string of cattle that follow behind them. And Éowyn tells me she had a conversation with you about our need for breeding stock…
However, consider my pride swallowed, for Théoden King would not have seen our people starve to maintain the dignity of his burial procession.
Oh my goodness! When she had suggested to Father and Faramir that they send oxen to pull the carts, which could then remain in Rohan, she hadn’t thought their presence might be an insult to the dead Horse Lord!
And, anyway, we leave them to the end. But they are well guarded by the rearguard for they are most gratefully received and will do much to deepen the friendship between the people of The Mark and Gondor. Although I do not see them as weregild, my people may well. And will see this as an honour paid to the fallen. Perhaps I should also look on them in that way. I know not.
Enough of such solemn thoughts. I will close this letter in memories of the kiss we shared, which makes me smile. I hope it has the same effect on you.
Your Éomer.
Lothíriel went back and re-read four more times before turning to Éowyn’s letter.
That night she slept with one of Éomer’s letters under her pillow. It was not difficult to choose which one.
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