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CHAPTER 13

Loyalties

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Éomer trailed behind his sister and her husband, filled with a strange sense of foreboding as they walked down the corridor. Éowyn led them to the suite of rooms which she and Faramir shared, and she took them to a small bedroom. There, her maid was sitting up on her bed, looking pale but not with illness. She bowed her head as the three entered. “My lords, my lady,” she said.

Faramir looked to his wife, a puzzled expression on his face. “I do not understand, Éowyn,” he said.

“Do you not?” she replied. “I would have thought that you would have discovered this truth already.” She turned her attention to her maid. “Mithlomi, will you tell them what you told me?”

“Yes, my lady.” The girl lifted her gaze to Éomer. “My lord,” she said, “my lady has told me of what has passed between you and the Lady Lothíriel. I fear that what I must tell you will not be welcome news.”

“Stars of Elbereth,” Faramir suddenly breathed. “It was you.”

Her dark eyes mournful, Mithlomi nodded. “That man. . . I do not even know his name, but he had had too much wine, I fear, and mistook me for your cousin, my lord.”

The steward nodded, while Éomer looked on in horror. “Of course,” he said. “You bear such a striking resemblance to her. Then it was you he kissed?”

Mithlomi nodded. “It — he startled me so much I knew not what to do. Then when I tried to resist him. . . he was strong. I could not repel him immediately.”

“Did he hurt you, Mithlomi?” asked Faramir.

Before she answered, Éomer turned his back, his hand upon his brow. “Oh, Lothíriel, what have I done?” he cried in anguish. The conversation behind him stopped suddenly, and he turned once more. “Why did you say nothing of this before?” he asked, though not in anger.

Mithlomi sank back a little into her pillows. “I am sorry, my lord, but I was unwell,” she replied. “My lady did not tell me what happened until a few moments ago.”

Éowyn touched his arm, but he recoiled from her touch. Blindly, he stumbled away, far away, but he could not banish from his mind the image of Mithlomi’s troubled eyes, nor Lothíriel’s horrified confusion. That he had caused her death he had felt regret, but now he could only feel true sorrow as the consequences of his blind anger washed over him. He had been mistaken, and because he would not trust his lady’s fidelity, she was dead, upon false accusation and slander.

In time he might have come to the same conclusion. In time, the memory of her smiles, her wit, and most of all her kisses might have worn down his resistance and brought this same conclusion to him. But now he had solid proof that he had been wrong. He had had no cause to accuse her of such duplicity, and he had certainly had no right to equate her with a woman of ill repute, even if she had been kissing another man in Elessar’s garden. His carefully constructed logic came crashing down around him in a moment. His words had caused her death. He was no better than a common murderer, and nothing he could do would ever allay the guilt he felt at having wronged so innocent a lady.

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Éowyn waited until Faramir had left in a daze and Mithlomi had asked for her embroidery to leave the handmaid’s side. Thence to the stables she went, and it was no surprise that she found Éomer there. He must have heard her entrance and known it was her, for before he could have seen her, he said: “Do not say it was not my fault, Éowyn.”

She stood still a moment, watching as he moved about in his horse’s stall with furious speed. “I had no intentions of doing so, Éomer,” she replied.

He paused, obviously taken aback by the frankness of her comment. Then he looked up at her, and Éowyn could see how red his eyes were. He seemed on the verge of tears. She had not seen him this distraught in years. He shook his head. “So long as you have no sword.”

Had it not been for the gravity of their situation, Éowyn might have laughed. “I have no sword, brother,” she said. “What will you do?”

“Ride to Dol Amroth,” he replied. “If the prince admits me, I will beg his forgiveness.”

“Can nothing sway you to wait until the morrow?” his sister asked.

He looked at her suddenly as he led his horse out of the stall. “What profit is there in delay?” he asked.

“On the morrow you would ride with all your men,” she replied, “instead of traveling this road, which has proven dangerous, alone. You might also speak with my Lord Elessar ere you go, and seek his counsel.”

“And what counsel could he give?”

“He is a wise man, Éomer,” said the sister calmly. “And you know this.”

Éomer stood in one place for a moment, and then dejectedly led the horse back. “Will your husband be able to bear one more night spent under the same roof as me?”

“If my husband cannot, then he and I will go to our house,” Éowyn replied, knowing he was hunting for an excuse. “I believe it would suffice for a night.”

Éomer looked away. “Then your loyalty lies with him,” he said quietly.

And Éowyn watched him in disbelief. For a time she wondered how she would answer without wounding him, but in the end she knew that a direct answer was the best way. “Yes, my loyalty lies with my husband, the father of my child,” she replied. Her brother lifted his gaze to hers, clearly hurt, but she could not withhold the truth. “I love you both, Éomer, but when I married him, I left my home and my country. Gondor is my home now, not Rohan; and Elessar is my king, not you.” She walked forward and took her brother’s hands. “You knew this would happen when you gave your blessing to our betrothal, brother. Faramir is my lord now, and will ever be until I die.”

“Then. . .” Softly he touched his sister’s cheek. “Have you nothing left for me?”

She sighed. “Would you have me say how much I love you yet? I love you enough to tell you that your behavior in the last two weeks has been boorish at best,” she replied. “You have always been quick to judge, and now you have acted very foolishly in doing so. There, is my love proven?”

When Éomer almost smiled, Éowyn was quick to embrace him. “Oh, brother, think not that I love thee not,” she whispered. “But I loved her too, as I would love a sister; and she would have made thee a worthy queen.”

He held her tighter, and in their embrace Éowyn could feel that he was weeping. It was best, she supposed, that he mourn for Lothíriel in some fashion. Thus they stood together for a long time, siblings in grief as well as in blood.

At last, Éowyn whispered in her brother’s ear. “Éomer, will you seek counsel from the king?” she asked.

Silently he nodded, and the two left the stables, each with an arm around the other’s waist. It seemed to Éowyn that he needed her now more than ever, and she was glad that she had convinced him to stay, at least until morning had broken.

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After a long night of counsel with Aragorn, it was decided that Éomer would indeed leave for Dol Amroth on the following morning. However, it was also decided that Aragorn would accompany him, as would Faramir. Both men wished to offer what comfort they could to the grieving Prince of Dol Amroth.

Yet before they were to depart, Éomer went to his sister’s chambers and knocked upon the door. To his surprise, Faramir opened it. “Oh,” he said by way of greeting. “Come in.”

Éomer entered, glancing about. “Éowyn is with Elboron,” Faramir continued.

“I did not come to speak with her,” Éomer said.

“Have you aught to speak to me?” the steward asked. “We will be together for some time as we travel.”

“No,” said the younger man. “I wish to speak with my sister’s maid.”

Faramir was unmistakably surprised by his brother-in-law’s request, but he showed him the way to Mithlomi’s chamber anyway. There the young woman was neatly dressed already and making her bed. When she saw the two men, she stood straighter and curtseyed. “My lords.”

Faramir took a few steps back, but Éomer noticed that he did not leave entirely. He tried his best to ignore this behavior and instead focused on the serene countenance of his sister’s maid. “I wish to apologize to you,” he said.

And she lifted her gaze to him, puzzled. “Why, my lord?”

“My anger hurt more than Lothíriel that night,” he said. “For had I not been so quick to assume, I would have seen your struggle with Nadroth and would have been able to lend you assistance.”

She looked down, pondering his words. It was clear to Éomer that she had not thought of that. Though he knew her to be in no way unintelligent, she had a naïveté about her which caused her never to think of the consequences to herself first. In this she was most unlike Lothíriel, but as soon as his thoughts turned to her, he had to look away from the handmaiden. The resemblance between them was growing painful.

At last she spoke. “For my part, I am sorry that I did not speak to my mistress earlier,” she said. “I fear much grief could have been spared.”

But Éomer shook his head. “You are innocent in this, Mithlomi,” he replied.

“Nevertheless I grieve.” She curtseyed to him again, and Éomer left quietly.

He found himself watching Faramir leave through another door and return a few moments later. “Éowyn wishes me to tell you that she hopes you will do nothing rash on this journey,” he announced without preamble.

“Can I not see her?”

“She will be long with the child, and I fear we cannot keep the king waiting.” Faramir’s expression softened. “She apologizes, and sends her love.”

Éomer did not press the issue; for while he wished to see his sister before leaving, he felt every moment he delayed in leaving for Dol Amroth would tarnish his name further in the mind of he who had once been his great friend. And so he departed from Minas Tirith with its Steward and King, glad to leave its walls and braced for the city which lay ahead.