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CHAPTER 17

Healing

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The following days were painful. Lord Aragorn left not long after Éomer departed for Rohan, and while Faramir bided his time in Dol Amroth, his presence did not make things easier for Lothíriel. She had the forgiveness and acceptance of her family, but she desperately wished to make things right with her people once more. As days went by and her cousin returned home, she wondered if such a thing were possible.

However, she was determined to face her troubles on her own feet, and so she was often among the people of Dol Amroth, trying to restore their faith in her. Some, though clearly hurt, were ready to accept her contrition and forgive, but others were not.

It was a particularly rainy day, some weeks after Éomer’s departure, when Lothíriel met the worst of her detractors, a woman of noble birth who had always liked her before the incident. There had been several whose disapproval had been far plainer than this woman’s was, but they had never liked Lothíriel to begin with. Losing this woman’s favor was worse than the ridicule of those who had never approved of her.

And so, for the first time since Éomer had left, Lothíriel shut herself in her room and cried. She knew that she deserved every word the woman had said to her — indeed, all that any had said to her — but that did not lessen the blow. But shedding her tears helped soothe her spirits, and when she had exhausted the supply, she finally looked around at her room.

Her maid had come in while she was crying and left a tray filled with sweets. Lothíriel rose from her bed, dried her eyes, and proceeded to peruse the tray. She had popped a puffed pastry into her mouth before she noticed a letter amid the food.

Deathly curious, Lothíriel lifted it deftly from the tray and turned it over in her hand. From the looks of it, it had come some great distance, but she did not recognize the hand in which her name was written. Then she looked more closely, and saw on the back the seal of Rohan.

Despite herself her heart started beating faster as she slid a knife under the seal. As she unfolded the letter, she sank into the chair at her desk and began to read.

My dear lady,

I write to you now to inform you that my party and I have arrived safely in Edoras. Our return home was longer than expected, for we stayed a while in Emyn Arnen.

My sister, her husband, and their child are all well. They would wish me to convey their greetings, but I am certain your cousin has written to you by now. However, he may not have told you of the visitors who arrived while I stayed with my sister.

Without a doubt you have heard of the four halflings to whom we owe our very lives, whose valor in the war saved all the realms of Men. Two of these halflings, Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took, came upon the tidings of Elboron’s imminent birth. Many months they traveled to see the child, and their stay in Éowyn’s house was much of the reason for my delay in coming home.

I hope you meet them someday, Lothíriel. Though they stand no taller than a child of ten years, they have the courage and heart of a dozen warriors of Men. Meriadoc, who helped my sister slay the Witch-king of Angmar, is to be married when he and his cousin return to the Shire, I have learned. Your father may be interested to hear this news, as he spent some time with the halflings when Aragorn was crowned.

The country around Edoras is fresher and greener than I have seen it in all my years. The summer sun has nurtured rather than parched the land, and for this my people are most grateful. Before the war, our lives were not easy. Harvests were ever nearly too low, but now we have in abundance. Now it is as if the land has rejuvenated itself, giving forth more than we thought to ask.

As I write, it has begun to rain. I do not remember the last time it rained in August in Edoras. This is an extraordinary time indeed.

However, I am certain that you have little desire to hear of the weather in Rohan, and would much rather be in one of your little boats, though I still do not understand your affection for them. But I would by no means suspend your pleasure, and so I will end this letter soon. Know that I hope you are well, and your father and brothers also.

Yours,
Éomer

Lothíriel found herself smiling and rolling her eyes by the end of the letter, despite the stilted formality with which Éomer had begun it. It was a letter which communicated many things and nothing at the same time, and she was glad of it. For a time she had thought that the Rohirric lord would simply cut off all contact with her in an attempt to push her from his mind, but for once in her life she was happy to be wrong.

And his closing words made her heart ache to fly.

Still smiling, she folded it once more and placed it in a box on the table. Then, drawing out parchment and quill and ink, she began to pen her reply.

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By midsummer Éomer had received a request from Lord Aragorn for assistance in building watch towers in the far reaches of his kingdom. As Rohan was to lend horses and labor to the effort, Éomer received word from this ally often, as they brought their forces together for the construction. But on one sparkling afternoon, when normally he would much rather have been out of doors, riding in the brilliant sunlight, he found himself desiring the privacy of his chamber.

Normally letters of a personal nature were separated from the rest, but the man who did that had seen the royal seal of Dol Amroth and assumed it was official business. However, Éomer saw immediately that the handwriting was a woman’s — not like Éowyn’s, whose hand displayed her impatience with everything. These lines were fine and even, the sign of a woman who took great care in everything she wrote. With a smile, Éomer slid a knife under the wax seal. He had written on a whim, and had not expected Lothíriel to reply.

My lord Éomer,

How glad I was to receive your letter this afternoon, my lord. I fear the time since your departure has not passed pleasantly for me, and so I was happy to learn that you are well.

Thank you for the tidings of my cousin and his family. I am grateful to know that Faramir, Éowyn, and Elboron are all well. And how lucky you were to be there when your friends visited! I must confess myself quite envious of your seeing them, for I have long wished to meet these little heroes. At times I am still cross with my father for leaving Dol Amroth in my care when he and my brothers went to war, for there are many whose names and deeds I know well, whom I should like to meet someday.

You say that the summer has not been too harsh in Rohan. I believe, then, that we must have had our places exchanged, for the heat here has been unbearable. Living by the coast does sometimes have its disadvantages, for a sea breeze cannot mitigate everything. I would wish to retreat to Minas Tirith or Emyn Arnen soon, if only to escape the weather here.

But I have promised myself that I will not leave my home until the winter has passed. If I leave, I fear I will only be escaping from my troubles here. I must confess, my lord, that the time since your departure has not been easy. Do not think that it would have been easier were you here; on the contrary, I believe this is something which I must face myself. But the disapproval of those who knew me before and expected better from me has not been lost on me. Many were they who praised me for my rule of the city two years ago when we were under siege. To have lost their good favor pains me greatly.

Yet I would not have you think that I do not understand the gravity of the folly which I committed. Indeed, I know full well that the scorn I have earned from my people is but a portion of that which I deserve. But this does not lessen the pain which stems from rejection, and it strengthens my resolve to restore their faith in me. For as my father has always said to my brothers and me, our mistakes are far heavier than those of a commoner, and our acts of charity worth far less. He has always said that that is a blessing to us, not a curse, for when our deeds are thus weighed, we are less likely to stray from what is good and just. My only wish is that I had not forgotten that all those weeks ago

I hope this letter finds you well. My father tells me that you are to lend your country’s assistance to Lord Elessar soon, and so I wish you well with that endeavor. Do not be surprised if you meet with my brothers then, for they too have wished to give our liege-lord and king whatever service they can render. I hope it fares well.

Give my regards to Fleetfoot. My poor little mare misses him terribly.

Ever yours,
Lothíriel

That she had written in reply was surprising enough to Éomer. That she had written in such terms of her trials was enough to trouble him as well. He wrote his reply immediately, hoping to offer some words of consolation to her. All the while he reminded himself that had it not been for his own folly and mistrust of her, they might have been married by now.

But would they have been truly happy, he wondered? During his last stay in Emyn Arnen, his sister had confessed to him the plot conceived by Lord Elessar, how he and Lothíriel had been tricked into confessing love for each other. Was that affection not as real as that which he now felt for her? Certainly the seeds of love had been there long before he heard Faramir, Aragorn, and Imrahil weaving a tale of Lothíriel’s love for him, but could an affection borne out of lies have ended otherwise?

Still, he did not blame his friends for their deeds. He blamed himself.

He kept these thoughts to himself as he wrote to Lothíriel, however, knowing she did not need to burden herself with such things. Instead, he wrote cheerfully about the events in Rohan, and that he would be glad to see her brothers soon. This time, when he sent the messenger to the City by the Sea, he found himself hoping that she would reply.

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And so it was that a year passed, and the trickle of letters between Dol Amroth and Edoras became a steady stream, until Éomer and Lothíriel were writing to each other every day, without fail. Sometimes they wrote of little things, of nieces’ and nephews’ first steps, of the breeding of horses; and sometimes they wrote of things quite serious. By and by, their letters came to be the brightest parts of their days, and through them ties of friendship were reforged.

In the spring of the following year, Éomer found himself once more riding to Ithilien on the joyous errand of greeting his sister’s child. Éowyn was to give birth once more, and he knew that both she and Faramir wished for a daughter this time. Éomer amused himself along the way to Emyn Arnen that he would tell Éowyn that he wished the child was another son, in order to provoke a reaction from his younger sister.

A servant and a man of the White Company greeted him and his small band when he arrived at the stone house, but to his surprise, neither Faramir nor Éowyn were waiting for him. Instead, he came up the steps alone, and when he came into the foyer, he saw Lothíriel.

She was lovelier than he remembered, dressed in blue the color of the night sky and standing in the light of sunset as it filtered through the doorway. She seemed to glow, and she was blissfully unaware of his presence as he entered. In her arms was a child who, by his resemblance to Faramir, he immediately took to be Elboron. He was laughing and grabbing her nose, and Lothíriel was smiling and kissing his cheeks.

Then she turned and saw him. Her cheeks flushed, but then she gave him a shy smile. “Lord Éomer,” she said, nodding to him as best she could as Elboron grabbed a lock of hair.

“Lothíriel,” he replied, approaching her at last. He then took the child’s hand in his own and pried it open, freeing her hair. “It is good to see you once more.”

“I am glad to see you as well,” she said. “I had hoped you would come.”

“I would not miss it.” Then the boy in her arms twisted about to look at him, and held his arms out to him. Éomer glanced at Lothíriel, puzzled. “Surely he does not remember me.”

“Nay, my lord,” said Lothíriel, laughing a little. “But he is a friendly child, and perhaps you remind him of his mother.”

So Éomer lifted the lad from Lothíriel’s arms and held him out in front of him. The baby kicked and laughed delightedly, and Éomer did not fail to notice the smile that formed on the lady’s lips as she watched them. “Good day to you, Elboron,” Éomer said. “Were you and your cousin here to greet your uncle Éomer?”

Elboron babbled some nonsense, and Éomer laughed, holding him to his chest. “Yes, my boy, this is a visit shamefully overdue.”

At that moment, Éowyn’s handmaid descended the stair, smiling. “My lord Éomer,” she said, curtseying to him once she had reached the bottom. “My lady has been informed of your arrival and wishes to see you.”

Elboron decided then that he preferred Mithlomi to Éomer, so Lothíriel accompanied him up to Éowyn’s chambers. They walked slowly, talking with each other as freely as they had communicated over the last year in letters, yet Éomer noticed that his companion’s lovely blue eyes were alight with hints of mischief. He was on the brink of asking her about it when they arrived at Éowyn’s door, and then he no longer needed to ask.

Éowyn was sitting within, an infant sleeping in her arms. He was about to speak his amazement that the child had been born already when Faramir turned, revealing that he too held a tiny babe.

“Twins?” Éomer managed. He looked at Lothíriel, whose face was filled with glee. “Could you not have warned me?”

“Why, no, my lord,” she replied. “I am as much surprised as you are.”

“I will answer you later, lady,” he said.

Éowyn and Faramir laughed. “Can you not spend an hour in each other’s company without coming to some quarrel, cousin?” the steward asked. “Come, this little cousin of yours wishes to see you.”

While Lothíriel gladly took the tiny burden from Faramir’s arms, Éomer knelt at his sister’s feet. “When were they born?” he asked. “I expected to be here in ample time.”

“They were born a week ago,” she replied, shifting the blanket away from the child’s face. “We would have sent word, but they were healthy, and we knew you were already coming.”

He brushed his fingers across the babe’s soft blonde hair. “They are beautiful children, sister,” he said.

Then Lothíriel laughed lightly. “They look like you, my lord, more than they resemble anyone else in this family.”

“Here, brother,” said Éowyn, “hold your nephew.”

So Éomer stood and took the child from his sister’s arms. “What have you named them?” he asked.

“The child you hold was born first,” said Faramir. “We named him Meriadoc. Lothíriel carries Peregrin.”

Little Meriadoc squirmed then and opened his eyes. “I hope you wear that name well, little one,” he said. “The one for whom you are named is great indeed, though he is not much larger than you.”

Faramir and Éowyn laughed again at that, but Éomer looked up at Lothíriel and saw a peculiar look on the lady’s face. After a moment she looked back down at the child in her arms, but he thought he saw a faint blush on her cheeks. And she looked so lovely there, with her cousin’s child in her arms.

Then Faramir touched his wife’s shoulder. “I will have food sent up,” he said. “I am certain that you and your brother have much to talk of.”

*~*~*~*

Long into the evening the quartet stayed there with the children (as Mithlomi soon brought Elboron to his parents). Faramir was quite glad to see his brother-in-law and cousin so easy with each other. He had understood from Lothíriel that they had been writing to each other over the course of the last year, but he did not know that the fraying threads that had been left in Dol Amroth had been so expertly reworked.

Then as the hour grew quite late and Lothíriel gave out a very unladylike yawn, Éomer offered her his arm in escorting her to her chamber. They did not see the amused look on Éowyn’s face, nor hear Faramir’s soft laughter after they had exited.

“It is as if they had never been apart,” Éowyn commented, as she rose to extinguish some of the candles in the room.

And Faramir smiled, walking up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. “Do you know what the poets would say to that?”

“What, my lord?”

“True love never dies.”

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Some random notes from me:

First of all, the following was suggested by Sache8, a good friend of mine and Éomer fanatic. This just fits Éomer and Lothíriel perfectly:

That you were once unkind befriends me now,
And for that sorrow, which I then did feel,
Needs must I under my transgression bow,
Unless my nerves were brass or hammered steel.
For if you were by my unkindness shaken
As I by yours, y'have passed a hell of time,
And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken
To weigh how once I suffered in your crime.
O, that our night of woe might have remembered
My deepest sense how hard true sorrow hits,
And soon to you, as you to me then, tendered
The humble salve which wounded bosoms fits!
But that your trespass now becomes a fee;
Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me.

William Shakespeare, Sonnet 120

Second, yes, I blatantly stole from The Princess Bride at least once in this chapter. What can I say, I was watching it as I was writing.

Third, thank you all for your lovely, lovely reviews. I don’t think I could have made it this far without your feedback.

And last but certainly not least, many thanks to Laureate05, who poked and prodded until this chapter was written. Here’s hoping she doesn’t disappear when Ivan hits Florida, so I can have someone to tell me “not good enough!” as I work on the last few chapters.