Acceptance.

Chapter two.

Eomer lay his wife on the bed and with barely controlled passion covered her body with his and began to make love to her. He was driven with the need to comfort her and felt Lothiriel respond to him. But a part of his mind was still angry at her words to him that morn, and he found himself thrusting with more urgency than usual.

She lifted his face from her shoulder causing him to look into her eyes, his own almost black with his throes….but as happens often to any wedded couple with young children, their love-making was rudely interrupted by the cries of their son, Elfwine.

Lothiriel anxiously writhed under her husband, feeling him withdraw with a deep sigh as she grabbed her chemise which she hastily donned as she padded quickly away to see to the needs of her child.

She walked in on shaky legs, still breathing hard and fast as Elfwine screeched out his needs to his mother. Lothiriel picked him up to offer comfort and gradually her breathing returned to normal, although her face was still rather flushed. She lightly kissed her son’s tears away, and thought with regret that Elfwine had stopped their passion, but…but also feeling a little shamed that she was glad that he had done so.

Eomer lay on the bed, his thoughts scattered, trying to hide his displeasure on being disrupted so…’will this day bring me nothing but frustration?’

He turned slightly, wincing a little at the ache in his loins, the sensation almost painful since his release had been halted…and he had been so close to that. 

He ran his fingers through his hair and regretted ever starting any intimacy, but the sight of his wife weeping roused deep emotions within him. As her tears fell all he wanted to do was caress her, feel her soft body next to his and to love her. When would he ever learn to stop and think and not act with haste? ‘She responded to me,’ he thought glumly, ’but she always does.’ It was as if the act could get them closer, without the need for speech, but…even that had failed and there was still an unhappy tension within the room.

He could hear the low melodic voice of his wife as she soothed their son, whispering to him and sensed by the way her voice rose and lowered that she was pacing the floor whilst doing so.

His discomfort was slowly decreasing and he stood up to pull on his breeches. He rose from the bed and walked in their ante-room to get the glass of brandy he now so needed. When he turned round and walked back into their chamber, Lothriel was sitting on the huge bed, Elfwine cradled in her arms, one shoulder bared as she gave him suck. He smiled and listened to the clucking noises coming from his child.

Eomer crawled over and sat behind her to draw his wife into his embrace, pulling her gently down to nestle on his chest. Lothiriel sighed as he kissed her shoulder and rested his chin there looking down upon his son.

His son, Elfwine, only six months into this world, and yet in all innocence had been the cause of such dissent between his mother and father.

He reached down and with a gentle hand stroked his son’s downy head. Lothiriel looked up and watched him intently.

“I would never harm or have cause to harm him, beloved,” he whispered.

“I know,” she replied softly.

“This union… ‘tis important… for me and for all Rohan…” he tried to explain rather tentatively. “I know not why you feel so against this…our son is of age… In..in the days of my forefathers it was performed moments after birthing...”

Lothiriel gasped anew at this thought. To go through the pains of labour was bad enough, but to then have a new born snatched from your arms to fulfil some Rohirric tradition…”I knew not of that, my lord, why ‘tis…” she paused abruptly before her tongue could speak the next word that almost rolled from her lips.

“Barbaric..” Eomer suggested, stiffening slightly.

Lothiriel blushed, a little shamed at his reading her mind so easily. ”You throw my words back in my face, Eomer. I am truly sorry, ’twas only said in the heat of the moment..I meant it not…”Her words trailed off.

“Mmm, but not without feeling though, you do know how to wound me, wife,” Eomer added in a pained voice.

“My king..” she started anew, “ I want no more discord over this, I find myself in a unhappy position of wanting to please you and the people….”

Lothiriel lifted Elfwine from her breast as she spoke, and lay him over her shoulder as he gave forth a large burp, the sound of which brought laughter to both and relieved a little of the tension.

 “Our son is a true Rohirric born.” He laughed, and opened his arms to receive the sleepy form of his son, held him close and planted a soft kiss on his forehead.

Lothriel laughed along with him, watching her husband, watching the gentle way he held the babe. Was she being unreasonable?

When she had been first wed to the king, many tales and legends had been related on so many evenings in the halls. They seemed to inspire the Rohirrim, and she watched her husband closely as these were related to the company. He took such pride in his heritage, in the deeds of his sires, this was the man she loved and would love until death. Yes, the tale of the first- born prince had been told and she had loved the ritual on first hearing of it. But that was before she had been delivered of a babe herself, and now on becoming a mother her worries on this had grown tenfold.

“I, I..are you…did I hurt you…” Eomer suddenly asked with tenderness, a little shamed now he had had time to reflect upon his actions “Please, I wouldst know, I never to intended to, my beloved.”

Lothiriel reddened slightly at his words, but felt he needed an honest answer, as for the first time since their marriage, she had not enjoyed his love-making. “Not hurt..” she began with hesitation, and raised her head to look directly at him, “You were a little overpowering, and…” she broke off, biting her lip.

“And?”

“And I didst not like the man you were when we….’twas almost like I was being punished for my harsh words to you.” She finished with a sigh, and wished heartily she had borne a daughter and then all this would have never happened and they would be happy and content.

“Oh, my love…” Eomer started to say, when a loud knock at the door stopped him, “Who dares disturb the king,” he called, with annoyance.

Arlo his steward it was behind the door-frame. He nervously answered, “The guests are here, Majesty, they await both your presence and that of the queen.”

“We will attend,” snapped Eomer, “Will you ever give me peace?” He sighed deeply with mounting frustration. He loved his land, but now he wanting nothing more to remain within their chambers to talk and seek to make amends with his wife. But it was not to be. Duty called and the affairs of the Riddermark over shadowed any personal feelings that its liege lord would be suffering from. 

Many guests had arrived that day, and the feasting would be on a grand scale this eve even before the ceremony took place.

Eomer stood and gently handed his now sleeping son into the arms of his wife, “We must needs dress, my lady.” Lothiriel walked out of the chamber holding their son and she placed him in the cradle, in the small room adjacent, and then retired to her dressing room to attire herself. ‘Will this day never be over,’ She thought as she brushed her hair and tied the thick curls back with a silver band.

Eomer watched her go and moved to do the same, his thoughts not on the evening ahead. He wished heartily he were still third marshal, or just a simple rider, living in a small house with just his wife and child and at no-one’s beck and call.

He soon washed and dressed, choosing a dark burgundy tunic and black breeches. He stood waiting with controlled patience, his thoughts drifting back in time, of another woman, a woman weeping for the loss of her husband. His mother, how he had tried desperately to comfort her …Lothiriel’s tears had awoken that unhappy memory, one that had been locked away for many a year. He looked up with a start as he felt the light pressure of a hand on his arm. There before him stood his wife, his queen, looking lovely, dressed so regally. He leant down to kiss her lips briefly, ere he chased his dark thoughts away.

“Shall we, my king?” she asked, giving him a small smile, but her face was rather pale as she took his arm.

“Aye, wife,” he replied, frowning as he noticed her pallor, “Let’s to dine.”

They left the royal chambers together, to descend to the halls below. There they would entertain and be entertained, and both felt the frustration at having their conversation halted, albeit it was only temporary. But now they had a role to play, and play it they must, as many eyes would be watching them and Eomer did not want to give the gossip-mongerers any satisfaction.

The company rose as the king and queen entered, love and respect in every heart. With a great shout Marshal Erkenbrand propelled himself forward to greet his king. 

He loved Eomer as a son and admired the beauty of his young wife. “A great day to come, sire,” he boomed, “A great day. I ne’er thought to witness this, not after…well you know of what I speak. The Riddermark is safe and long may it continue, the dark days are gone, gone forever.” Horns greeted this salutation and many mugs of ale were downed in honour.

“My Queen,” Erkenbrand towered over her, he was smaller than her husband but had twice his girth, “You are a jewel among women,” he beamed paternally, feeling another strong arm tugging him away from the close proximity to his ruler’s wife.

Elfhelm laughed, “Come marshal, ere you offend our Queen.” Erkenbrand staggered away to the laughter of all as the king called for more drinks and the whole of Meduseld cheered the health of the queen and her son Prince Elfwine.

After the dining, many songs and stories were in the offing. Lothiriel leaned back in her husband’s arms and listened with the rest, but only with half an ear as her troubled heart was still giving her pain and distress.

TBC.

A/N Many thanks to Helena who offered to Beta this story.