Sorry for the delay, folks. I'm coming up on crunch time in school, so it took longer than anticipated.

And now for Chapter 5, in which we stumble upon a plot.

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CHAPTER 5

The Matchmakers

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In the two weeks prior to Elboron’s birth and the days following, Éomer began to realize why precisely Lothíriel had come to Emyn Arnen. Certainly she was there to share in the joy of the birth, but she also took upon herself many of the duties which the mistress of the house could not during her confinement. When questioned on this by Éomer, she replied simply that as Faramir had no sisters and she was the closest female relative, she felt it her duty to assist her cousin in this. She reasoned that since she had done this for two of her elder brothers when their children were born, she had the duty to offer her services in this regard to Faramir. And indeed, Lothíriel proved an excellent manager for the house, planning meals and making accommodations for guests, both for those whose arrivals were anticipated and those who were not.

Yet amid her tasks in running the Steward’s house, she found ample time to spend with Éomer, which never ceased to amaze the King of Rohan. She was a lively partner, certainly: a worthy debate opponent, a ready learner, and a capable rider. But after each argument, Éomer was struck by an odd feeling of sadness, perhaps, that the argument was over. Somehow he got the idea that Lothíriel felt the same way.

When the birth came, however, he began to see less and less of her, as her duties were now augmented by frequent visits to Éowyn and the newborn. Éomer, of course, saw his sister just as much, but strove to keep his visits from overlapping with Lothíriel’s. The night of the birth had been profoundly unsettling for him. She had looked entirely too lovely as she held the infant.

But there were plenty of distractions from his mildly disconcerting thoughts about the Princess of Dol Amroth, not the least of which was Éowyn herself. Éomer had never seen his sister so happy as she was after the birth of her son. She smiled always, and nothing seemed to give her more joy than the chance to hold the child and rock him to sleep. Éomer had not expected her to take to motherhood so quickly, but Éowyn had always been one to surprise.

Yet she was not unwilling to let others hold her child. A few evenings after the birth, when the midwife had finally told her she could rise from her bed and join her guests at dinner, Aragorn held the babe for most of the evening. They were all gathered around the fire in Faramir’s large library, with the child as the center of attention.

When Aragorn could be prevailed upon to surrender the little princeling to his wife, Faramir gave his brother-in-law a strange look. “So, brother,” said he, “you have said once that you prefer beauty of the darker kind, but which is lovelier in your estimation: the Queen or my cousin?”

This generated great laughter from all present except Éomer and Lothíriel, it seemed. As Éomer contemplated the most politic way in which to answer his brother-in-law, it escaped his notice that the Princess of Dol Amroth had flushed a pretty shade of pink. However, this did not pass by Faramir without note. Then Éomer said: “I cannot answer you, brother. If I say the Lady Lothíriel, then all the world will count me a liar; for what mortal can compare to Elven beauty? Yet if I say the Queen, then I insult your cousin.”

“I can stand the truth, my Lord Éomer,” said Lothíriel. “I am not made of glass.”

“I never supposed you were, Lady,” he replied. “No elegant glasswork could deliver such scathing blows as you do without shattering.”

“But when the glass is hot it does not break.”

“Nay, Lady, but it is deformed, and the glassblower must mold it anew.”

Faramir coughed, having caught Éomer’s meaning as quickly as Lothíriel did. As much as it was rather unbecoming of Lothíriel to argue thus, Éomer was no better. Then said Lothíriel: “We had a truce, my lord.”

“The child is born, my lady.”

After he glanced at Aragorn, the King began a new thread of conversation, far away from glassmaking or Elven beauty. And it was not long before Elboron started to cry in Arwen’s arms; and Éowyn said: “He is tired.”

She started to stand, but Lothíriel was faster. “I will take him, Éowyn,” she said. “You have not had a night with your guests for some time, and I would be glad to put him to bed.”

Éowyn opened her mouth, obviously surprised, but then smiled. “If you wish,” she replied. So Lothíriel scooped her little cousin into her arms and whisked him out of the room.

And before much time had passed, Éomer left too, bored, Faramir supposed, without Lothíriel’s conversation. Almost as soon as the door had closed behind him, the party left before the fireplace burst into laughter.

Aragorn recovered first. “I had not thought their bickering to be as serious as this, Prince Imrahil,” he said.

“Nor I,” Imrahil replied. “Until we had come here, I thought their relationship nothing more than friendship.”

Éowyn smiled gleefully. “Come now, did you suspect nothing?” she asked. “Or have you forgotten that first meal we passed with them in our company?”

“When Éomer could not keep his eyes from her?” said Faramir. “That was the only time he was ever struck silent by her beauty.”

“Perhaps the only time he has ever been struck silent at all,” Éowyn replied. “I could almost say that he is desperately in love.”

“Almost?” said Arwen. “Why almost?”

“He is not quite lost to her,” said the Lady of Ithilien. “But a gentle nudge will send him beyond hope, I deem.”

Faramir laughed. “I doubt my cousin will give it to him.”

And Lord Aragorn got a curious look upon his face. “Why then should we not help?” he asked. “I am certain we can give them what encouragement they need.”

The Queen smiled in mischief. “And this is what the King of Gondor has come to in time of peace? Matchmaking for the sovereign of another realm?”

“The match was made, for the board was set when Éowyn became ill last fall and Éomer and Lothíriel both came to see her,” the King replied. “I merely move the pieces.” He took a sip of the wine which had been poured for him earlier. “Lord Imrahil, with your blessing, and the help of you all, we will quicken this relationship and have them married before Midsummer.”

Imrahil laughed long. “Aye, my lord, you have my blessing, as will Éomer when the time comes. I could ask for no better son-in-law.”

“And you, Lord Faramir, and Lady Éowyn?” said Aragorn. “Do I have your help?”

“Wholeheartedly,” Éowyn replied.

“Then we are in agreement, and let us drink to it,” said the King.

“And how do you propose to work this miracle, Estel?” Arwen asked.

“It will be no miracle, Arwen,” he replied, “but in the coming days we will know how best to trap them.” He turned to Faramir. “When do you expect Legolas and Gimli?”

“On the morrow, my lord,” the Steward replied. “Gimli, at least, will be more than happy to assist us.”

“That he will,” said Aragorn. “Then we shall have to tell them as soon as we can of this plan. Éomer and Lothíriel want only a little help. We shall accomplish this with ease.”

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Much later, when the plot was explained and all had agreed to their parts, Éowyn headed to the nursery to see to her son. To her surprise Lothíriel was yet there, holding Elboron. “Lothíriel?” she quietly said. “Is something wrong?”

The younger woman looked over her shoulder and smiled. “No, nothing is wrong,” she replied. “I wanted time to think.”

Éowyn nodded. “That I readily understand.” But when she moved closer to Lothíriel, she saw the beginnings of tears in her eyes. “Lothíriel, you are not well,” she pressed.

Lothíriel sighed, carrying Elboron to his cradle. “Perhaps I am not,” she said. Then she blurted out: “Cousin, it can be difficult to be alone.”

“Yes,” Éowyn replied simply. “When all others are gone to war, or marrying and having children.”

“I am not like you, Éowyn,” she said. “I did not wish to fight. But now. . . .I love my nieces and nephews, and I love your son, but it is not the same.”

Éowyn was surprised by this sudden admission from her husband’s cousin, though she knew of Lothíriel’s short-lived betrothal. “Do you regret the choices you have made, Lothíriel?”

“That I broke off my engagement? No,” she said. “I did not love him, and I know I would have been unhappy. But with the last of my brothers to be married so soon, I feel as though all the world is leaving me behind.”

And Éowyn embraced her, understanding the feeling very well. Yet she was happy to hear those words, for it made her nearly certain that the plot they had concocted just now would be successful, at least with Lothíriel. In fact, she was tempted for a moment to break with the group and tell Lothíriel now that Éomer admired her greatly. Éowyn was nearly certain that her brother was in love, and such knowledge would give her cousin comfort now.

But she held her tongue, and soon Lothíriel pulled away. “I am sorry, cousin,” she said, smiling despite the confession she had just made.

“You have no reason to be,” Éowyn replied. “You are tired. Perhaps you should rest.”

“Yes, I believe I shall,” said Lothíriel. “Good night, Éowyn.”

“Good night.”

And then Lothíriel was gone, to be replaced a few moments later by a very confused Faramir. “Is my cousin well?” he asked. “I saw her fleeing from here as though her life depended upon it.”

Éowyn smiled. “She is well, my lord,” she replied, “but she will be ready to fall when the trap is laid.”

And Faramir smiled too. “This is good news indeed.”