Terribly sorry about the delay. Real life and other concerns took over for a while.

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CHAPTER 16

Day of Atonement

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After a few days came the first day of the month, when in Dol Amroth it was tradition that the Prince of the City hear any who wished to address him. Even the smallest child could come and petition the prince, and Imrahil would hear him. Imrahil told Éomer that he did not need to come if he wished to spend his time in other pursuits, but the young king said he had much to learn from him.

In truth, Imrahil wondered if the reverse were true. Only two days before Éomer had come to him with grave news, that he had seen Lothíriel alive and well. Imrahil was grieved when he saw the sorrow on the man’s face, for he had hoped not to hurt his young friend so deeply as he clearly had. In his anger at Éomer’s slander, the prince had forgotten that mercy is the greater part of honor, and thus had acted upon his daughter’s rash, foolish plan. But Éomer harbored no ill will. He was saddened by Imrahil’s deception, but not forever angered by it.

Lord Aragorn, in fact, was far angrier about the incident than Éomer was. No explanation could sufficiently absolve Imrahil’s guilt in the matter, until Éomer himself intervened. Rightfully, Aragorn wished Éomer would react more to the turn of events, but he would not. In the end, Éomer’s calm insistence that Lothíriel had done no lasting harm to any but herself, and that she and her father deserved forgiveness, convinced Aragorn to put aside his anger. The Prince of Dol Amroth believed it would be some time before the King of Gondor had truly forgiven him.

But for now, Imrahil was content to have him present as he listened dutifully to each petitioner. Many requests he granted immediately; others he promised to consider in the following days. By the end of the period, several property disputes had been settled, a request to aid a group of orphans had been granted, and many other matters had been resolved with little incident.

The last petitioner came alone, which surprised Imrahil considerably. Though life was not so dangerous now in the princedom as it had been in recent years, women did not often travel alone, even within the city. Yet Imrahil doubted even the hardest of criminals would have touched this woman. She was dressed in a gown of rich black, and a silvery veil obscured her face.

Lothíriel.

For a moment Imrahil ceased to breathe, wondering if his eyes had fooled him. But no, this was his daughter’s poise and gait, down to the tilt of her chin as she faced what was sure to be the worst moment of her life. And he wondered what she had planned, for in her steps he perceived a shaky confidence, something he had often seen when she was a child, and about to take responsibility for her own folly.

She knelt before him, which surprised no one in the room. Imrahil glanced at Éomer for a moment and knew by the set of his jaw that he too recognized this last petitioner. The prince turned his attention back. “What do you request of me, lady?” he asked.

“Forgiveness, my lord,” she said, in her rich, low voice, “if you will grant it.”

“What wrong have you committed that you would seek it?”

He could imagine the way she would be closing her eyes, half in annoyance, half in dread. When she was small he would always require that she state her misdeed before receiving her punishment, though he reflected rather belatedly that she had never been punished that often as a child. Yes, he knew the look on her face quite well.

“I have deceived my people,” she said, “and these noble guests, and I have involved you in my deceit, Father.”

At her last words, she lifted the veil from her face, and murmurs and gasps sprang up in the hall. The silver cloth fell to the floor, and she lifted her eyes to her father’s gaze. “In anger and pride I have deceived all those who stand in this room,” she continued. “I was wronged by a man’s error in judgment, and in my folly I hurt far more than he who offended me. I was blind to the pain I would cause, and to the dishonor I would bring my family.”

“My child,” he replied, “you are not the only one who has been blinded, for I should never have allowed you to act as you did. The fault lies with me as well.”

“No, Father,” said Lothíriel. “Let me be to blame. Let me be the one who must beg for mercy.”

Imrahil was quiet a long time, feeling the burden of anticipation on him as his subjects and his lords waited for his answer. What Lothíriel had done was reprehensible, and he had had a part in it. How could he be the one to forgive her?

At last he said, in a voice low and weary: “There is another who should be the one to answer you, Lothíriel.”

She closed her eyes, knowing his meaning. Without prompting Éomer approached her, as cautiously as he would approach a wild horse who had thrown him once already. She would not look at him, even when he stood directly before her. And so he touched her cheek and tilted her chin up to bring her gaze to his. “My lady,” he said, in soft tones, “I have forgiven you already.”

Then, without a word, he left. Imrahil dismissed the murmuring audience, and Lothíriel, now crying silently, ran straight to his arms. Long the father and daughter stood in mutual pain and comfort, and all the while he hoped desperately that she at least might be forgiven by their people as well as by the Lord Éomer.

*~*~*~*

The days since Éomer’s sudden appearance on the beach had painful for Lothíriel. She only took food when her maid insisted on it, and then it was not much. She had grown silent and pale, and nothing could take her mind from her troubles.

Her decision to come forward and reveal her deception was reached with much difficulty. All her efforts thus far had been focused upon Éomer’s guilt, Éomer’s need for repentance, and she had ignored the fact that what she was doing was very, very wrong, and that there was no possibility of her relationship with Éomer ever reforging after her childish behavior.

So in the end, when hope was gone, Lothíriel knew her only course of action was to expose the truth. She knew this road would not be easy, and thus far it had been quite painful. Yet she was strangely happy she had done it. Despite the scorn and ridicule she knew would come, she was glad to hide no more.

Stern words of displeasure had come from King Elessar, but from Faramir she had received a welcoming embrace. “You have done what is right,” he whispered to her, “and need no more reprimand from me.” She could only wish that she had not so greatly disappointed him.

It was difficult now, as she walked on the rooftop of her father’s house under the stars, to tell her feelings on her young Rohirric lord. That she loved him, she was certain; but after she had behaved so abominably toward him and he had freely forgiven her, she knew she did not deserve him.

“My lady,” said a voice, deep and familiar. Lothíriel did not need to turn to know who spoke, but she turned anyway and saw Éomer standing at the other end of the roof.

“My lord,” she replied, curtseying low.

He made no move to quell her obeisance, as he once had, but merely nodded in return. “Your brother Elphir told me I might find you here,” he said. “I must confess, I was surprised when he told me to try the roof.”

Lothíriel almost smiled. “Why would that surprise you?” she asked, puzzled.

“In Edoras it is easy to reach the roofs of most houses,” he replied, “but not so easy is staying on those roofs.”

For the first time in several days, she smiled genuinely, surmising that he spoke of thatched roofs. Then she looked down, and her smile faded.

“I want you to know,” he said, suddenly, “how much I am sorry for my part in what has happened.” Lothíriel looked up sharply. “I wronged you greatly, and had it not been for my temper none of this would have transpired.”

So unexpected was this proclamation that tears began to form in her eyes. His forgiveness had been most unexpected; an apology was unthinkable. “My lord,” she whispered as he crossed the space between them.

“Are we so far gone, Lothíriel?” he asked. “Can you not say my name?”

She drew near to him, murmuring his name in reply; and he embraced her. Perhaps she wished to weep, but tears did not come. Instead, they watched the Sea under the clear night sky, wondering what would become of them. After a time he pulled out the pins which bound her hair, and dark and light flew free in the wind. It was cold, but Lothíriel felt it not. Éomer was more than enough to keep her warm.

“What is this place?” he asked after some time had passed.

“Some call it a widow’s walk,” Lothíriel replied. “It is a place of watch. From here you can see every ship that sails into our harbor.”

“And. . . from here a sailor’s wife can watch for her husband’s ship to return,” he said, softly. “Aptly named.”

“My father came here the night I was born,” she said, speaking low. “The night my mother died.”

“You never knew your mother?” Éomer asked.

She shook her head, and her cheek brushed against the soft cloth of the tunic he wore. “She died within an hour of my birth. I wish. . .” She took a deep breath, taking in his scent. “I wish I had but one memory of her. Something. . . But my father came here that night. He made his decision then that he would not marry again.”

He was silent for a long time, and Lothíriel rested her hand against his chest, feeling his heart beating beneath her palm. At last he said: “Is that the choice you have made?”

And she drew away from him, taking a step back to look on him. “It is the only course left to me with any honor, my lord,” she replied. “And I do not wish to marry where I do not love.”

“I wish there was something I could do.”

Éomer touched her cheek, but it did not escape Lothíriel’s notice that he did not make a similar statement. “I wish I had not done what I did,” she whispered. “But I cannot be other than I am by wishing.”

They stood in silence, with only a step between them, and an impassable breach. At last, Lothíriel bowed her head, knowing it was her move. “I must take my leave of you, my lord,” she said.

He nodded, and she left without another word. That night she slept, and dreamt of things impossible, and when she woke in the morning, Éomer was already gone.