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CHAPTER 19

The Greatest of These

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Some days later, Éomer and his men dismounted before the palace of the Prince of Dol Amroth, and as he had the year before in this place, he felt no small amount of apprehension. But this time, it was for much different reasons.

The doorman asked their business, and the captain of his guard stepped forth and announced: “The King of Rohan has business with your Lord Imrahil.”

The man bowed before Éomer. “I will instruct a servant to take you to him directly.”

Éomer directed his men to take care of the horses while he followed a servant. Through the vaguely familiar corridors they wended, passing stairs and courtyards all along the way. Then suddenly, as they turned a corner, he saw Lothíriel.

“Éomer!” she cried, apparently caring not for propriety.

Several people turned and stared, but he heeded them not. “Lothíriel,” he replied, taking a few steps forward. Dressed in deep red, she looked stunning.

Quickly she shook her head. “My lord, what has brought you here?” she asked. “You said your intent was to travel home the day after I left Emyn Arnen.”

He hesitated. “I have come,” he began, haltlingly, “on a pressing matter which has commanded my attention.”

Her eyes widened. “What of my cousin and his family? Is something the matter?”

Éomer took her hand in an attempt to reassure her. “No, my lady, they were all quite well when I left them. Set yourself at ease.”

Still looking rather like one who had narrowly escaped death, she nodded. Then he kissed her hand impulsively; and when he looked at her face again, her expression had only intensified.

Without another word he left with the servant, who showed him to Imrahil’s study at last. The man entered, and a moment later summoned Éomer within and left the two lords alone.

Imrahil had been sitting behind a large desk, but upon Éomer’s entrance he stood, quill yet in hand. “My lord Éomer,” he said, “I did not expect you to come.”

“In truth, my lord,” Éomer replied, “I did not expect to come myself.”

“My nephew’s family is well, I hope,” said Imrahil, taking his seat once more and gesturing to a chair nearby.

“They are well.” Imrahil opened his mouth to speak, but Éomer spoke first. “My lord, I do not wish to delay this with idle talk.”

“What is the matter, friend?” The prince set aside his quill at last.

Éomer shifted, a little uncomfortable. “I have come to ask your permission to seek your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

Perhaps something else might have shocked him more, but Éomer doubted it. It was a long time before Imrahil spoke again, and when he did, his voice seemed strange. “My daughter told me a year ago that you saw no circumstance under which you could marry her.”

“Has she also told you of the last year?” Éomer asked.

“I know you have written to each other frequently,” the father replied. “But has that changed your mind so completely?”

“Has not her people’s opinion changed as well?”

Imrahil looked away, sighing heavily. “My father’s last advice to me was this,” he said. “When a ruler is just, his people are just; and when a ruler is merciful, his people are merciful. Though these are not your people, Éomer, your forgiveness of Lothíriel has served as a great example to them, and in time, they have learned to forget.”

“Then is it so impossible that I too have learned to forget?” Éomer asked, softly.

“It is not impossible, but there is something I must ask,” Imrahil replied, “for this change seems abrupt to me. I know that last year, my nephew saw no impropriety with you often spending time alone with my child, and I cannot imagine that his mind has changed that dramatically. Should I have any reason to suspect my daughter’s honor has been compromised? Is that your reason for wishing this?”

Éomer stiffened somewhat, though the potential shock of this question had been lessened by his conversation with Faramir a few days before. “No, my lord,” he replied, relatively calm. “I have never solicited your daughter in that manner.”

“Then I have but one question to ask of you,” said Imrahil. “Why are you so willing to overlook what she has done? Why take for yourself as queen a woman who has acted so irresponsibly in the past?”

“I love her,” Éomer replied, softly. “I love her, and I have forgiven her. It is Lothíriel whom I need, both for myself and for my country.”

Imrahil grew very quiet. “Have you spoken with her yet?” When Éomer shook his head, the prince rang a bell, a servant appeared, and was then dispatched to fetch Lothíriel.

The two men spoke but little as they waited for her. When she arrived, her eyes rested first on Éomer, and he thought he perceived her breath quickening. Then, almost as an afterthought, she looked at Imrahil. “Father,” she said, almost a whisper.

“My child,” he said, “Lord Éomer has come to Dol Amroth with a request I did not expect.” Éomer watched her grip the back of a chair so tightly her knuckles turned white. “He has come to ask for your hand in marriage.”

She swallowed hard. “And what have you to say to it, Father?”

Imrahil looked a little surprised. “I wish to know your thoughts, Lothíriel.”

A torrent of emotions seemed to cross her face, and she would not look at Éomer. “I cannot feel myself worthy of the honor he offers to bestow.”

“Lothíriel,” Éomer said gently, “are your sins that much greater than mine?”

At last she looked on him. “I do not understand, my lord.”

“I have not led a perfect life,” he replied. “Yet I am king. Are these two at odds?”

“No, we none of us are perfect.”

“Your father tells me that the people of Dol Amroth have accepted you once more,” he pressed. “They have forgiven you, as did I.” He held her gaze, long and steady. “Forgive yourself.”

And it seemed to Éomer that this was something she had never considered. For a long time they simply watched each other in silence as she did battle with her own demons, her own fears. Then she turned back to Imrahil. “Father,” she said, “I would receive Lord Éomer’s request with great joy.”

With a hint of a smile, Imrahil took Lothíriel’s hand in his left and Éomer’s in his right, and joined them. “Éomer Éadig, I promise you my daughter, Lothíriel, that you shall be wed with my blessing. Thus you are betrothed in the sight of the Prince of Dol Amroth,” he said. “My child, give this man the honor due him; and love this woman as she deserves, my son.”

After embracing them both, the father left them alone for a little while. As soon as he was gone, a tear slipped down Lothíriel’s cheek, and Éomer brushed it away. “Do not weep,” he said.

“It is not of sorrow, but of joy,” she replied. “I dared not hope, and I yet wonder if this is but a dream.”

Then Éomer pulled his betrothed into an embrace. “You need not hope,” he said. “This is real.”

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It took at least a full day for the shocked relief of them both to turn to unmitigated joy; and the happy couple appeared before the people of Dol Amroth, who celebrated with their princess in her choice of husband. Then before them all, Éomer kissed her, and those who were witness to it rejoiced.

The tidings spread to Minas Tirith and Emyn Arnen as well, and swift messengers brought back the elated greetings of their friends in both places. Nothing could have lifted their spirits more than the true joy which they and their family and friends shared. To Lothíriel, it was the joy which comes in the morning after heavy rain, when all is well with the world and flowers continue to blossom and grow.

In truth it was all a little overwhelming for Lothíriel. She was almost deliriously happy to know that it would not be long before she and her beloved Éomer were wed, but such joy after such grief was dizzying in its magnitude. She had been engaged once before, but during the war for their freedom there had been no time for celebration, or even for happiness. Now, in peace, there was no time for doubt.

Nor was there need. As Lothíriel came to the roof of her father’s house late one night, as the stars were peeking through the wispy feathers of cloud, things began to grow as clear to her as was the night air around her. That she loved Éomer and was loved by him in return was not a matter for debate. Long had she loved him, despite his flaws as well as her own. There was something glorious in the knowledge that her love for him was so deeply requited.

Then, as the night wore on in her inexorable rhythm of starlight in darkness, Éomer joined her.

“My lady,” he said, drawing her attention down from the night sky when he alighted on the roof.

Lothíriel gave him a warm smile. “My lord,” she replied in kind.

“What brings you here?” he asked, walking toward her.

“The cool and quiet of the night,” she replied, “and the beauty of the sea. And you?”

“You,” he said, quite simply. Lothíriel felt her cheeks flush. Once before she had told him, in no uncertain terms, that she did not wish for a man of eloquent tongue and graceful speech. Her desire had not changed, but Éomer’s quiet expressions of simple truths would yet take her by surprise.

He placed his hand at her waist, a simple gesture he had come to use often since his arrival in Dol Amroth. As they were quite alone, she leaned back against him, and he kissed the top of her head. “It is a beautiful night,” he said. “I believe I have come to understand your love of this land. I will be sorry to take you from it.”

She smiled. “Could you not rule Rohan from this port? Surely it would not be too inconvenient.”

He laughed. “Your brothers warned me of your wit,” he replied. “I heeded them not.”

“And yet you love me.”

“I do.”

They were silent for a while, watching the starlight dance upon the water beyond the city. Then Lothíriel turned and set her arms about him. “When must you leave?” she asked, knowing his answer would be sooner than she would like.

“In two days,” Éomer replied, running one hand through her hair. “I have been away from Edoras far longer than I should have been.” Lothíriel looked up at him. “I have never been glad to leave you,” he added, “but the pain will be at its worst this time.”

“It will not be long,” she said, balancing herself with her hands on his shoulders as she raised up onto her toes and kissed his cheek. “I will come to thee soon.”

With his broad palm he cupped her cheek. “It will not be soon enough.”

Then they drew nearer to each other and kissed under the starlight. It was far too brief, as their kisses ever seemed to be, but for the moment it was what they needed. Gentle, chaste, and pure, it gave them both the reassurance they desired, that this separation would not be forever, that though darkness would fall, there would always be the dawn.