Sorry for the delay, folks. A project for another fandom derailed me on this one. I'm still not happy with this chapter, but. . . well, that's what revisions are for, I suppose.

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CHAPTER 15

Awakenings

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Late in the night, Lothíriel sought out her father. Since her encounter with Faramir, she had been able to think of little but his words. They stung like so many thousands of nettles, and she could not shake the disappointment in her that had been so evident in his eyes.

She had thought her plan was a good one. If Éomer still loved her, would he not forgive her deception? Yet she knew her cousin loved her, and he had been angry. The more Lothíriel thought on the matter, the more she knew that Faramir’s anger was just. She had had no right to deceive. But now, with regret weighing heavily on her mind, she knew not how to act.

So she went to her father, seeking his help. She wished to be away from the city for a time, to spend a few days in meditation on what she would do. Imrahil agreed, knowing that her continued presence in the palace heightened the likelihood of her discovery. And so, when all was said and done, she and the elderly lady who had been as a mother to her as a child departed Dol Amroth ere the sun rose, riding swiftly to a cottage on the Sea.

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On the day following his appearance before Imrahil, Éomer no longer wished to remain in that house, despite his friend’s generous hospitality. And so early in the morning he rode out, alone, hoping that a day’s ride would assuage his spirits.

Down the coast he rode, until the sun was high above, and his thoughts turned to the city once more, knowing that his companions would be concerned if he did not return by sundown. But in the near distance there was a house, and Éomer slowly approached it, hoping that the person who lived there might spare a drink of water.

Then his attention was drawn toward the sea once more, to its calm blue expanse. It reminded him, in a way, of the plains of Rohan, but it was as though the fields had been covered with millions of sparkling jewels that danced under the sun’s rays. Far in the distance he saw sails of ships coming in to harbor in Dol Amroth; and for a moment he wished he was on one of them, to know why Lothíriel had loved them so much.

He thought again of how thirsty he had become, and his eyes drifted away from the horizon. Then, to his surprise, he saw a figure down below. A woman, probably young, was walking down from the cottage to the shore. Her hair was loose and wild in the breeze; her feet were bare. As she reached the water’s edge, she lifted her skirts and waded in, but the train of her gown floated on the water. Éomer dismounted his horse, and before he had taken too many steps, his heart began to tell him that he saw Lothíriel.

It was impossible, he knew. She was dead, and had been dead for days. His weary, grief-stricken mind had conjured this image of her, fetching and beguiling. Yet as he drew ever nearer, he could not help but wonder why this vision of her was so clear, and so enticing. At last, as he reached the water, he spoke. “Are you real?” he asked, not quite trusting his voice.

At his words the vision started, and the woman finally turned and faced him. Lothíriel’s face paled as though in fear. “Are you real?” he repeated, closing the distance between them.

With him so near, she was shaking. “Yes, my lord,” she whispered, as he dared to touch her cheek. Her skin was warm under his fingers. This was all so very wrong.

And before he had thought about what he was going to do now that Lothíriel was before him in the flesh, their lips had met. Éomer did not know which of them had moved, but neither did he care. For her lips were soft, as he remembered, and so susceptive to his touch. With great care he cupped her face in his hands, fearing to draw her nearer lest she vanish.

It was a long time before she responded, bringing her hands to rest on his arms. And Éomer could not help but notice that she yet trembled. He was gentle with her, and in his mind questions began to form. When at last he drew away, he gazed upon her long before he asked: “How can this be?”

In response she began to cry; and when Éomer began to wipe the tears from her cheeks, she only wept harder. “Lothíriel,” he said gently, “why did your father tell me you were dead?”

She choked back a sob. “Forgive me, my lord,” she whispered.

“For what?”

Lothíriel would not look at him. Instead she took several steps back from him; and Éomer dared not follow her. “My father told you that I was dead,” she replied, “because I begged him to.”

And Éomer felt suddenly cold. “Why?” he asked, dreading the answer.

She looked toward the sea, her tears yet flowing. “I thought it was to discern your heart, to know if you loved me yet,” she replied. “But I know now it was to hurt you as much as you hurt me.”

“So you lied about this?” he said. “Of all the things you could have done to exact your revenge, you chose this?”

She did not respond, so he took his chances and continued. “Lothíriel, what have you done to your people?” he demanded, his voice rising. “Did you think nothing of the consequences?”

“No!” she cried. “I thought only of myself, and of my pain.”

“How could you be so unfeeling?” he asked, as much confused as he was hurt. “I did not think you capable of such cruelty to a people who love you.”

“Please, my lord, no more!” She turned to look at him at last; and her eyes were red with weeping. “This was not intended for my people.”

“I know,” he replied, taking a step nearer. “But whatever cruelties you devised for me, I deserved. Yet in this you hurt many who love you.”

She winced suddenly at his words. “I know,” was her mournful reply. “Yet I fear there is no remedy.”

And Éomer turned away. He had wondered more than once at what he would do if he were given but one chance to speak to Lothíriel again, and now that he had been granted it, none of the words he had wished to speak seemed appropriate. He had thought to beg her forgiveness, yet she had wronged him as greatly as he had wronged her. Now he wondered that he was not angry; for most of all he was sorrowed by her actions.

“Neither do I see a remedy for this,” he said, softly. And in truth, he did not. For his heart still yearned for her touch, and though she had betrayed him in a fashion worse than the betrayal of which he had accused her, he loved her. As much as his mind told him he had to give her up, his heart refused.

“What will you do?” Lothíriel asked, her voice a little stronger.

“I cannot marry you,” he said. “Not after this.”

He hazarded a glance at her, and he saw her close those beautiful blue eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks. “It is not from lack of desire,” he added, softly, “for I desire none but you. But I cannot think of myself alone. I must think of my people.”

She nodded in understanding, but it was little comfort to either. Then, with a sureness which surprised even him, Éomer embraced her. Lothíriel began to weep again, but he did not release her. This was the comfort they both needed: the beginning of forgiveness, and the acceptance of the impossible.

And then they kissed once more. Lothíriel’s lips were wetted by her tears, but Éomer paid that no mind. Instead, he hoped to burn the memory of her lips in his mind, knowing that no other’s kiss would be the same. And though she yielded to him, he could still feel all the passion and fire that defined her in his mind. He knew not what he would do without this.

Till the tide had reached its zenith they stood in each other’s arms, sharing a last moment of respite. There was still much to be said, many words which needed to be spoken, but neither could speak them. Instead, she whispered his name upon his lips and trembled, filled with unspeakable pain, and with love. Yet very faintly Éomer felt hope, as though he were seeing starlight through heavy clouds.

But in the end, he released her, and wordlessly walked away. When she called out his name he paused, but did not turn. In silence, in determination, he left her alone, with only memories and dreams shared between them.

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That evening Éomer was nowhere to be found at dinner, so when he appeared very late at Faramir’s door, the Steward of Gondor was quite surprised. “Brother,” he said, softly. “What is the matter?”

“I must speak with you,” Éomer replied.

“Of course,” said Faramir, stepping out of his brother-in-law’s way and closing the door behind them. The younger man sought out a chair and sank into it, clearly exhausted. “Where have you been all day?” Faramir asked.

“Riding,” was all the answer Éomer proffered, and for a long time the two men were silent. Faramir was about to suggest that Éomer get some rest and come back to speak on whatever troubled him in the morning, but suddenly, Éomer said: “Faramir, did you know that your cousin is still alive?”

Faramir took a deep breath and leaned back into the chair in which he sat. “Yes,” he said, cautiously.

“I saw her today,” said the Rohirric king. “I spoke with her, I held her. . . I kissed her. How is it possible that she has done this?”

“I do not know,” said Faramir, exhaling heavily. “Lothíriel has great knowledge, but she has not yet gained wisdom.”

“I will freely admit that what I did to her was wrong,” Éomer replied, “but how can I trust her after this?”

“You cannot,” said Faramir. Sadly he looked upon his brother-in-law. “She must earn the trust of those whom she betrayed, including you.”

In the silence that followed, Éomer rested his head upon his fists, and Faramir strongly suspected that the younger man was crying. “It would be better,” he finally said, “if she had died.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Then I could go on,” said Éomer, looking up. “Then I could marry as I ought, and not be troubled by the knowledge of the woman I love being alive, and unattainable.”

Faramir reached over and touched his friend’s hand. “Do you love her still?”

Éomer nodded. “To marry another would be worse to both of us than what has already transpired.”

“Then do nothing yet, but see what she will do.” Upon Éomer’s bemused look, he added: “Some things Lothíriel must do for herself, and so I bid you wait. She may yet surprise us both.”

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