Acceptance.

Lothiriel had woken that morning, head aching, eyes bleary with sleep, her stomach a knot of anxiety. She had retired early the previous night, in low spirits as the day loomed ever nearer. Her thoughts on this had kept her awake most of the night. She had heard Eomer enter the room quietly, not wanting to disturb her rest. Heard the rustle of clothing as he disrobed, felt his hard body as he nestled close, inhaled his scent of hay, horse and leather as he gently entwined his arms and legs with hers and felt his warm breaths on her back as he soon fell into a deep sleep.

She knew this ceremony must be performed, but her heart told her otherwise. ‘In Dol Amroth’… she started thinking bitterly, but she was not in the land of her birth, she now dwelt in the land of the horse-lords; a land of a differing culture and traditions, a land where even as Queen, it was not in her power to speak of her objections.

She meandered about the large chambers she shared with her husband, muttering to her-self, when a sudden noise from the adjoining room drew her and she peeked through the open door. Within was her son, Elfwine. She smiled wearily and leant on the frame simply watching him and sudden tears began to fall from her eyes.She brushed them away, feeling angry and betrayed and wishing heartily that the day was over and her son was safe.

But Eomer was adamant, and he would his way regardless of what protestations she might bring to mind. Indeed it was their first altercation since being wed and on recalling the harsh words she spat at him that morning, she now felt shame. His eyes had darkened at those words, his lips had set, jaw clenched and he had simply turned and walked out of the chamber.

**

Eomer’s day was spent in council, but his thoughts were elsewhere as he went through the machinations of kingship. The noon bell rang and his councillors suggested a break to the halls for their repast but Eomer would have none of that, he wanted not a halt in proceedings and ordered food to be sent to the chambers. One reason for this was to prevent him from joining his wife in the halls, a deed for which he felt instant regret on conveying the order thus, but as king he could not back out, his pride ran too deep.

He sat alone and aloof from the others and ate but little. His councillors, on sensing the strange mood of their liege lord, spoke softly to each other and approached the king not.

Eomer mused on the situation before him and thought Lothiriel was behaving in a most un-queenly manner. It was not as if she knew not of the ceremony, it had been discussed much and was in important rite of passage for every crown prince since the days of Eorl.

‘Lothiriel was just being unreasonable,’ he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose and then stood abruptly, strode to the window and gazed out on the sight below. The banners and flags cracked in the breeze, the guards kept their vigil, ever protective of their king and his family. The citizens of Edoras, busy in their daily routine, bustled about, but seemed eager for the feasting and celebration on the morrow, when the prince would be presented.

He sighed again and sat down, sensing someone watching him, “Majesty…” his steward, Arlo, ventured.

“What next,” Eomer replied brusquely, and the endless process of reports and requests filled the afternoon until the king felt his temple begin to throb with the beginnings of an unwelcome headache.

**                              

Lothiriel sat with her ladies in the afternoon and the talk of course was on the morrow and its forthcoming events. She was strangely silent as she sewed, stitching diligently, not conversing but listening to the chatter around her. The more she heard, and the more she felt the excitement around her, the more her heart sank. That and not seeing her husband at the noon meal. She felt the sting of that quite keenly and realized it was not just work that had kept him from meeting her as he always did. Moreover a bitter- sweet missive sent from Eowyn that morn gave her more cause for heartache. Her sister-in –law could not attend as she herself was heavy with child and near her time. Eowyn wrote of her apologies and also wrote with relish of the ceremony and regretted her absence.

Lothiriel pondered deep upon her feelings upon this. It was not that she did not agree with the rites…they were important to the Rohirrim and future king...it was just...well… ‘Elfwine was just too young …’

“My Queen?” lady Githwyn spoke anxiously, Lothiriel had stopped sewing and sat as if in a trance while unwittingly huge tears ran down her face.

“My Queen, are you ill?”

“Would you like a healer?”

“Shall I send for the King?”

Her ladies fussed, most worried by this, for their queen was never so.

Lothiriel shook herself from her reverie, “Nay,” she gasped, with a shaky smile, “I but fret for the morrow, ‘tis strange to me, being not Rohirric born….I but worry for...” her voice trailed off and she stood, her ladies rising as one. “I will rest, ..please ..” she added, “I am not unwell, I am simply wearied.” She paused, her hand on the handle of the door, and looked back, “ I need not a healer…or my husband.” She spoke quietly her head low and she walked from the room leaving her ladies bewildered.

**

Eomer had left the council chambers, work done, and the next few days would see a welcome holiday for the Eotheod, to celebrate the union to come. He headed not straight to see his wife as was usual but to the stables, here he would find peace of mind and calm. Here he could forget, for a while, the stubbornness of his wife...He could not understand why she was being so. Her words had hurt him that morn, but because of his great love for her he had left before his anger had caused retaliation.

He knew the love she had for their son, a love that ran so deep she wouldst protect him from all.

Her words came back to mind sharp and clear...'cold hearted,' she had said, 'a barbarian with no realization for the safety of their son or the feelings of his wife.'

He rubbed his forehead and watched Firefoot munching contentedly in his stall. How could she say he was so? His entire heart was given to both wife and son, the love he bore them both ran deeper than the Anduin. Did she think he would put his son in any danger? He would rather cut off his own sword arm than cause his beloved child any hurt.

He walked into the stll and stretched out his hand to stroke Firefoots huge frame, but the horse turned away and all Eomer saw was his ample behind. And then he turned his head slightly to see how his king was taking this.

“I know friend,” Eomer muttered, about to leave the stable, knowing full well he must shy away no longer and return to his chamber to make peace with his wife, a mission he secretly had dreaded as they day wore on.

Firefoot spun round and nuzzled his master affectionately, as if to reassure him and give him courage, ere Eomer left the stable area to return to bathe and seek his queen.

**                                   

Lothiriel stood by her chamber window. She had had a merry two hours with her son and he was tired from this and now slept. Her mind was cast in the clouds, thoughts swept away when she was roused  by a sudden knock.

With a shaky breath she called, “Enter,” and was shocked to see her king and husband come through the door and close it behind him.

“Must you knock, my lord? This is your home..” she asked, softly.

“I knew not whether I was welcome, my lady,” Eomer replied, “Your words this morn seemed not to want me near your presence!”

“And I regret those words, and have regretted them every minute of this long and unhappy day..forgive me,” her voice shook and suddenly tears ran profusely down her face, the sight of which melted the heart of Eomer, and with two strides he had his wife in his arms and was kissing her and holding her close as if he never wanted them to part again.

“My, love” he whispered, between kisses down her throat, “I never wanted you to be unhappy in this.”

“Eomer..” she gasped, as she felt his hands begin to unfasten the laces on her dress and she gave herself up to the sensation of the moment.

TBC