#Éothíriel

[sluttyseacadet]

Éomer and Lothíriel because I can't stop thinking about them

[heckofabecca]

sketch of an upcoming scene in Beneath Golden Eaves, part 2 of my Lothíriel-centric series Far From The Swan-road.

[infracti-angelus]

Pale Fire, Chpt 5

PALE FIRE, a Lord of the Rings fanfiction

Pairing:  Éomer and Lothíriel

Summary: Lothíriel wasn’t unacquainted with infatuation; after all, she was nearly twenty-one years old and (by Gondorian standards, at least) well past her prime. But while she was acquainted with infatuation and the whispers of attraction, this was entirely different. And it infuriated her. And when his line of sight but glanced over her, she felt heated from top of her hair to the base of her foot. No, not heated. Burning. Set aflame.  She felt as if she were the swine roasted on the spit for tonight’s dinner.

Rating: M

Click here for Chapter 1

Click here for Chapter 2

Click here for Chapter 3

Click here for Chapter 4

Chapter 5: The Incident

His manner and bearing belied a cool aloofness. Indeed, the only fault that could be found in his interactions with the other partygoers was his stiffness, most likely due to inexperience as a warrior thrust into the role of king. But his eyes betrayed him. Lothíriel didn't know how to describe it, but his gaze held such awareness, a true presence in this very moment, that it almost alarmed her. And when his line of sight but glanced over her, she felt heated from top of her hair to the base of her foot.

No, not heated. Burning. Set aflame. She felt as if she were the swine roasted on the spit for tonight's supper.

If this was what a brief look of indifference caused, she couldn't imagine what it would be like to be the center of his attention. The likelihood of that, however was in her favor, since he was making it a point to not rest his eyes on anything for longer than a few seconds while his captain was otherwise occupied, probably due to the amount of eligible women being blatantly paraded past by hopeful fathers.

Lothíriel felt perpetually flushed, not helped by the arrival of more partygoers. She announced to the rest of the family that she would find Ada, which left a very put-out Amrothos holding Alphros whilst Rosilith secured a dance ("or two!" she winked) from Elphir. Venturing this way and that and consciously keeping her gaze averted from the table housing the King of Rohan, she was able to cover a large amount of ground without any sign of her father. The surrounding lords seemed no longer content with her excuses and she could sense the electricity of their frustrations with each additional dance refusal. She had officially given up looking for her father and was going to seek out wherever Amrothos and Alphros had set up camp when her path was blocked.

"My lady," a masculine voice drawled.

"Lord Brayan," Lothíriel dipped her head in acknowledgement, schooling her features to one of cool indifference.

"You're looking…well."

Lothíriel inwardly squirmed. The epitome of gentlemanliness, Lord Brayan gave no indication to being the contrary. His gaze remained respectfully on her face the entire time, which was more than she could say for some of the other lords she had encountered. They had lasciviously dragged their eyes on her form, and one had even waggled his eyebrows suggestively (he'd been thrice her age, and she had to contain her laughter). Despite this, the statement from Lord Brayan left her ill at ease.

"Thank you, my lord. Excuse me." Lothíriel took a step to the side, attempting to extract herself before this chance meeting could evolve into something more.

He stepped to be in front of her again, blocking her path. Lothíriel felt a bubble of panic before narrowing her eyes. She had done much more difficult things than rebuff unwanted advances from a nobleman.

"I must confess, I find your appearance to be a bit of a surprise," he said, taking a step towards her to close some of the empty distance.

"Oh?" she countered, trying to sound entirely uninterested in his opinions (which wasn't hard).

"I thought you were sequestered away on your seaside palace," he said.

Lothíriel's brow quirked without her intending it to. She knew he meant what she was wearing, but spoken aloud he was referring to her presence in Gondor. Classic misdirection.

"Hmm," she said. The less she answered, the less fuel she gave him.

"It's nice to see your family let you out of that sandcastle." Lothíriel bristled at his reference to her ancestral home as a sandcastle.

He continued, "If you were mine, I would keep you tucked away, safe and sound. It's still very dangerous for such a journey. Then again, I'd be sorely disappointed if they did that."

Lothíriel stepped to her left this time.

"I could also understand if you were to get too bored being locked up, and need a release for your pent up energy." He stepped again to impede her escape. "Perhaps you've passed the time with other…activities." Lothíriel looked up sharply, and by the glint in his eyes, he knew he had touched a nerve. He grinned. "Horseback riding, perhaps?"

Damn him, Lothíriel thought. She could comprehend the deeper implication of his words.

He was extremely close to her now. She knew he could see down the front of her dress; his eyes dilated. "I'd like to see more of you."

Damn him again.

"Dance with me," he demanded and grasped her hand to place a kiss on her pulse point. Coils of revulsion curled inside her stomach. Lothíriel wished she could shed her skin like a snake. The memory of his lips on the inside of her wrist reminded her of a jellyfish sting.

"No," she extracted her hand from his. "Thank you," she added as an afterthought.

"When I wanted to escape, I had a special, isolated place I would go to," his voice lowered. "But I'd be willing to share it with you." He did not give up, despite her rebuff. She glanced around to see if she could find her family.

She noticed her father across the room –there he was! — and glanced at the man he was talking to.

Lord Brayan grabbed her wrist and pulled her into him, sliding his finger suggestively down the back of her dress. "If you're good, I'll let you come."

Lothíriel locked eyes with the King of Rohan. Fire seeped through her veins. Elbereth, the way he was looking at her. She felt a flush envelop her, and tore her eyes away from his as Lord Brayan's words registered in her mind.

If Lothíriel hadn't known the commotion it would cause, she would have thrown a fist (Erchirion had taught her how to fight when she was eight because Amrothos had, in her words, "kept trying to drown" her). Nonetheless, she knew the disgraceful behavior of her potential actions would only bring shame on her family, and perhaps affect their livelihood.

Lothíriel, instead, yanked her arm out of his grasp and took a step back. Her face burned in anger and she all but hissed "No, thank you" before she rudely (not enough to sate her rage, but enough to make a point) pushed past him and found the first exit she could.

She sought refuge in the pleasant but ill-tended gardens of Minas. Once lovely like the city, they too had fallen into disarray with the growing shadow. Even with the end of ethuil, spring, the gardens were lackluster. They could no longer compare to the gardens in Dol Amroth, but perhaps now that there was a new King, the gardens would be tended to once more. Even with the threat of war upon the lands, the gardens still held hints of aromatic scents from medicinal herbs cultivated by the Houses of Healing. Lothíriel leaned on the nearest stone balustrade and squeezed her eyes shut. She could still feel the imprint of his grip around her wrist as he pulled her against himself. She stifled the urge to retch.

Lothíriel breathed shakily. She was on the brink of one of her attacks. No, not now, she thought. She swore under her breath. She would not relive her encounter with the Corsairs. She refused to do so; she refused to let Lord Brayan trigger that memory. Recalling that pain seemed to be a reliable distraction, she sunk her fingernails into the flesh of her hand, causing angry crescent shaped welts to appear. Focusing on the sting in her palm, she could feel attack dissipate. Merciful Nienna, thank you.

It was dusk but the air still held the warmth promised by fast-approaching laer. Lothíriel found herself a well concealed alcove inhabited by a stone bench. Perhaps she could obtain a moment of reprieve before rejoining the party. She dusted off the moss the best she could, hindered in her task by the fading light. She would have to, unfortunately, see and interact with Lord Brayan eventually. Hopefully he didn't follow her out, or she wouldn't be responsible for her actions. Before she could turn to lower herself onto her seat, she heard a masculine voice behind her.

"My Lady, I-"

Lothíriel spun around and at first all she could see were broad shoulders. Before she could identify the speaker, she saw two shadows and a flash of steel to her right.

"My lord!" she cried in warning as the figure wielding a sword approached and shouted something. She instinctively put her arm out to protect the man—Lord Brayan?—in front of her and move him out of reach.

If she had thought the King's eyes made her burn, she was so wrong. The unnatural sensation of cold metal sundering her flesh was followed instantly by agonizing pain. Her whole arm felt aflame and the trauma of her body accepting such a wound blinded her to the subsequent scuffle. A glint of a dagger and the whole affair was over, with the uninvited man hailing victorious.

Lothíriel felt her heart palpitate at an alarming speed and she began gasping for air. Immediately the man knelt to the ground in front of her –how did she get down here? -and guided her arm to his lap.

"The laceration is mild. You are in no danger of losing any permanent feeling," he stated, his tone clinical and dispassionate marking him as an experienced war veteran. She could feel the pressure of some sort of fabric he pressed down to staunch the bleeding.

Lothíriel could not thank him, could not quip that loss of feeling would be a blessing, or even check to see if he had sustained any harm. Indeed, she could not even breathe and her vision started to blur.

"My Lady?" the man's voice had colour to it now. He was clearly alarmed.

Lothíriel tried to even her breathing or she knew she would pass out from hyperventilation, as she'd seen it happen to more than one noblewoman. She only managed to choke out a mangled noise. With her left hand she reached behind her and attempted to unbutton her gown.

"My Lady!"

"Lothy!" Amrothos' concerned voice joined the shocked one. Lothíriel looked up to see Amrothos jumping over a corpse and skidding on blood to kneel by her side, joining the man who had blond hair. "Lothy, what happened? Are you alright? What's wrong!?"

If Lothíriel had been in her right mind, she would have chided Amrothos for pestering her with questions without waiting for answers, but the relief of the arrival of her brother surpassed everything, and she managed to choke out "corset."

She could see comprehension flash across his eyes, and Amrothos, with a set task given to him, immediately took over unbuttoning her gown. After opening the back, he reached the lacings and began to loosen them. But he was going too slowly and her lungs burned as if someone had jabbed an iron poker, blazing red from heat, into them. Everything was aching and the edge of her vision started to blur. She could feel herself slumping from the lack of oxygen; Amrothos started to panic. Immediately she felt his hands shoved aside, and a quick glance revealed a solid arm reaching around her. It held a small dagger, still dripping with the assassin's blood, and took her brother's place. A swift motion and the lacings of her corset were sliced apart and she could finally draw a full breath. She slumped forward all the way forward, into the blond man's chest. She felt exhausted and closed her eyes; her head felt too heavy to lift. Though her arm still burned, the pleasure of filling her lungs with the night's fresh air caused her to inwardly rejoice.

"Lothíriel, what happened?" Amrothos questioned again. She felt the man she was leaning on inhale and felt the reverberations in his chest as he answered for her.

"I followed her out here to speak with her. She was able to warn me in time before either of us were killed." He cursed in a foreign language-was that Rohirric?—and continued, "I wasn't quick enough and she sustained injury." His voice was deep and reminded her of waves on the shore during high tide: powerful and unstoppable, but peaceful and soothing. There was a certain lilt to it that betrayed an accent she wasn't familiar with.

Lothíriel could feel hot, white light pulsating from her arm with each heartbeat. She steeled herself for the effort it took to speak and croaked out weakly, "Amrothos, please get Ada."

"I will be right back," Amrothos replied, eager to do something useful. He stood up and darted away, evading the pool of blood on the floor.

Lothíriel took another deep breath and exhaled shakily. The man's arms, which still held her, tensed slightly. After a few more moments of breathing comfortably in silence, Lothíriel finally shifted. Wincing a little, she untucked her head from beneath his chin and glanced up.

She shivered. And his arms tensed around her again.

It was the King of Rohan.

"Do you have the strength to stand?" he asked, the tone of familiarity he had used with her brother was replaced with a strained one.

Gooseflesh prickled across her skin at his breath on her neck. Lothíriel nodded. He carefully shifted her from his lap and stood. Gently, he picked her up at the waist and set her on her feet. Lothíriel swayed a bit and he caught her before she could tip over.

"Thank you, my lord," she said, looking up at his face. His jawline was incredibly sharp even beneath his trimmed beard, and she tempered the urge to reach up her hand to cup it. She observed that his jaw was clenched. She watched the corded muscles in his neck twitching, and noticed that he wouldn't look her directly in the eye.

"Lothíriel?!" she heard her father's panicked voice call to her. The King of Rohan stepped away from her immediately and his stinging gaze honed in on Imrahil. Lothíriel turned around and saw her father, Amrothos, a few of their most trusted Swan Guards, and a Rohirrim hurrying toward them.

"Ada," Lothíriel cried out immediately, rushing into her father's embrace and holding onto him tightly with one arm while cradling the other. Lothíriel could hear whispered Rohirric behind her. Imrahil gripped her tightly by the shoulders to move her away from himself so he could take inventory of her injuries.

"You've been harmed," Imrahil's voice was low and tight. He took off his splendid mantle and draped it over her shoulders, as her dress was sliced and was starting to slip further down her body. Without the King's heat, she realized how chilled she was. The majority of her back was bare, and the mantle provided cover she didn't realize she needed. She watched as the Rohirrim left his King and slipped away.

The King of Rohan cautiously approached them and cleared his throat. Imrahil looked at him. "Prince Imrahil," he spoke lowly and quickly, "I do not think it prudent to stand out here in the open any longer where prying eyes may discover us."

His eyes darted toward Lothíriel and back to her father, raising an eyebrow. Imrahil's eyebrows furrowed and he looked at his daughter. His eyes widened at what he saw and he nodded in agreement. Lothíriel felt confused.

Imrahil looked at the King, knowingly. "You are wise, my friend, and I perceive you have a plan. Mayn't I be aware of it?"

"This must be dealt with discreetly. It would do no good for our peoples to know what has happened here, on this night. Peace is still too fragile, and news of assassins infiltrating during the coronation day would cause chaos."

"And Lord Aragorn?"

The warrior-king looked thoughtful. "I am loathe to divulge this information to him immediately and taint this day with ill tidings. I would have us deal with it privately until tomorrow at least. The less people who know will be to our advantage."

Lothíriel turned at footsteps coming towards them, and the Swan Knights instinctually went into a defensive pose. The footsteps belonged to the Rohirrim returning from his errand. The Swan Knights only relaxed when Imrahil motioned them to with a wave of his hand.

He spoke rapidly to his king in Rohirric. The King of Rohan turned to Imrahil and explained. "I asked Éothain to procure the services of Éowyn. Your daughter needs her arm tended to, and I think it best that we do not go to the healer here, or else it will be reported. We needed someone trustworthy, and Éowyn has been studying the art of healing. Éothain has informed her of being needed, and she is waiting in her room with the appropriate supplies. That is, with your permission."

"That is agreeable," Imrahil said, turning from Lothíriel and speaking in hushed tones with the Swan Knights. The King of Rohan's expectant gaze shifted to Lothíriel. It took her a few seconds to realize he was waiting for her approval as well. She nodded mutely, a warmth spreading through her that had nothing to do with her wounded arm on which she was still putting pressure. At her consent, the King spoke to the man named Éothain in their language, and though she could not understand them, it sounded like they were arguing.

Suddenly she felt a hand at her elbow, and she was being ushered away by the Swan guards. Lothíriel stumbled often, and was steadied by one of her father's most trusted guards. Lothíriel didn't register for several moments that the knights were following Éothain through the servant corridors to the guest rooms. The further they walked, the more agitated Lothíriel could feel herself become. Finally, they arrived in a wing that Lothíriel recognized as being reserved for important dignitaries, and Éothain rapped on a solid wood door in a staccato rhythm before the lock clicked open. A beautiful woman with long golden hair answered the door a crack, her face drawn tight and worried. Upon seeing Éothain, she cried out and embraced him. She spoke quickly with him in their native language, and motioned for Swan Knights to stand guard at the door. She smiled tentatively at Lothíriel until she noticed the garment wrapped around her arm, and then the woman's face paled.

She spoke sharply with Éothain who answered in what Lothíriel perceived as a snippy tone. Lothíriel watched as Éothain shrugged the woman off and left while she was in the middle of a sentence. The woman looked extremely frustrated before taking a deep breath, schooling her features to one of calm and turned to Lothíriel and invited her in.

"My name is Éowyn," she said softly as she locked the door, gesturing at a padded bench at the foot of her bed for Lothíriel to sit on. Lothíriel's blood pumped thunderously through her veins and she could feel her body vibrate with energy as she moved to the bench and sat down. Despite her upbringing, Lothíriel could not still sit. She watched Éowyn glide with impossible grace over to a table positioned underneath a window. There were a variety of herbs mixed into poultices, a sharp needle and thread, and cotton fabric strips. A set of closed doors led to an adjoining room, which was for a spouse as was custom in Gondor. Perhaps Éothain's? Based off of their interaction, Lothíriel wasn't sure. Her general knowledge of the Rohirrim and their naming customs could very well point to Éowyn being Éothain's sister, which would make more sense. The room was large for just an apprentice healer, even if she was foreign, but perhaps it was due to Éothain's rank. A fireplace on the opposite side of the room boiled a pot of water and crackled comfortingly, though it did nothing to soothe Lothíriel's reeling mind.

"I'm Lothíriel of Dol Amroth," she provided, as she tried to think of anything that would keep her still, "and I'm so dreadfully sorry to disturb you during the festivities." Lothíriel gripped the fabric of her dress with one hand and forced herself to sit still as Éowyn approached her. The Rohirric beauty was dressed in the traditional dark blue robes of the Houses of Healing. The fabric was almost black in order to disguise blood stains, and had the White Tree of Gondor embroidered in shimmery thread on the left side over the collarbone. The robe was tied with a swath of fabric, silver in color and purely decorative, which indicated she was an apprentice. The higher up in training, the plainer and more practical the belt was. The Warden of the Houses of Healing had a leather belt which held many pouches and slots for tools. Her hair was down but plaited back. Its pale gold colour reminded her of a ghost crab Lothíriel routinely saw scuttling across the sand after dusk near one of her favorite places to sail.

Éowyn knelt down next to Lothíriel and reverently unwrapped the fabric from around her arm and folded it. She replaced it with a damp cloth. "Is he alright?" she inquired quietly, while pouring a sterilizing concoction over the wound to prevent inflammation.

Lothíriel ceased the bouncing of her leg and winced at the sting, startled out of her reverie. "Pardon?"

"Is the King alright?" she clarified, dabbing at the wound to clean it.

"Oh! How did you know he was involved?" Lothíriel puzzled aloud. Éowyn gestured towards the fabric at her feet that had been used to slow her bleeding. The discarded item was a costly tunic of brocaded green.

"The King of Rohan was wearing this. It used to be King Théoden's, and it has blood on the outside of it. Yours has not seeped through it yet."

"Oh!" Lothíriel flushed. She hadn't even realized that the King had given her his own tunic. She couldn't believe she hadn't noticed him in nothing but his under-tunic and breeches. She looked at the woman who was tending to her. Lothíriel thought that she looked frightfully pale. "Your King is completely unharmed, as far as I am aware," she reassured, recalling that the people of Rohan had already lost one King. Lothíriel watched colour return to her face and a look of immediate relief.

Éowyn breathed a prayer of thanks in her own language. Smiling at Lothíriel, she handed her a less than half full small glass phial to drink from. "This is the last of the poppy tears I could find. It should help to dull the pain while I stitch the wound closed. After this, all I have is willow bark," Éowyn explained.

Lothíriel downed the bottle in hopes that it would help. She immediately felt her heartbeat slow down, though she didn't feel sleepy like the last time she had been in this situation about a year ago.

"How is it that you were wounded?" Éowyn asked casually as she prepared the needle.

Lothíriel recalled vaguely that the King of Rohan had said Éowyn was trustworthy, but didn't know to what extent. She settled that it wouldn't hurt to tell the healer, but Lothíriel froze at seeing the threaded needle coming toward her. Éowyn, believing Lothíriel's hesitation to be from lack of trust, paused in her task. "Éothain told me it was ill-tidings for all, that you were attacked."

"He told you what happened?"

"Not the complete tale. I've known Éothain since we were very young. He grew up with my brother and I, and the three of us are still very close. My brother and he, especially. It is rare to see them parted. He said just that you were involved in a scuffle with an enemy, and the consequences of it are far reaching for us all."

"I was in the gardens," Lothíriel explained as she exhaled through her mouth, "when I heard a voice calling to me. It was your King, though I did not know it at the time. I saw a flash of steel in the corner of my eye. I tried to move him out of the way, but I wasn't fast enough. " Her speech slowed as the needle Éowyn held initially pierced her flesh. Lothíriel's eyes took on a glassy quality, and she appeared to be reliving some horrific memory from a time long passed.

"Breathe in through your nose and exhale through your mouth," Éowyn coached. Éowyn had witnessed many soldiers experience this after the Battle of the Morannon and had herself struggled with the episodes of the warriors' waking dream after the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. Lothíriel dug her nails into her upper thigh to ground herself and inhaled slowly through her nose and could feel herself return to reality as she exhaled.

Éowyn watched intently. She looked extremely contemplative as she knotted the final stitch and used a small dagger to remove the excess thread.

"I-" Lothíriel started to speak.

"Nay; there's no need to explain. It never happened." Éowyn interrupted her, making herself appear intently busy on wrapping Lothíriel's arm with cloth strips. Lothíriel looked extremely grateful, her vigor finally returning. "Well at least the assailant has been dispatched," Éowyn continued, hoping to distract her patient from feeling any residual uncomfortableness.

Lothíriel nodded. "Yes, it is good. Do you know if they captured his companion?"

Éowyn's sharp eyes snapped to Lothíriel's. "Éothain spoke only of one."

"Yes, one assassin. I'm talking about the accomplice he was with," Lothíriel said. She felt renewed energy flow through her body, like a thrumming running through her veins.

"They do not know there was a second enemy," Éowyn stated harshly.

"Well someone has got to tell them!" Lothíriel exclaimed, jumping to her feet as the urgency washed over her. She felt as if she were racing the rising tide; there were but a few, fleeting moments in which she could secure her fate. "There's a chance we could still prevent them from leaving the city."

"They are debriefing now in the war room as we speak," Éowyn spoke hurriedly. Lothíriel started towards the doors but was stopped by a firm hand on her shoulder. "Ye cannot go while you're like this."

Lothíriel wrenched her shoulder out from her grip and assumed her mask of indifference. "I am perfectly capable of speech, therefore I am going."

"Nay, I do not mean to prevent ye from going," Éowyn said softly, turning her palm up to suggest she meant no harm. "But ye may want to be at least properly covered up."

Lothíriel looked down at herself and blanched. Here she had been abashed at the King of Rohan in naught but his under-tunic and breeches, while she had looked twice as disheveled. The hem of her dress was a shade darker from the rest, stained from the blood pool. A rip on the side by her right knee must have happened when she hit the ground. But truly, the most mortifying thing was the top of her dress. Its mutilation to save her life had left her with little decency. The slips of fabric that served as her sleeves sagged near to her elbows, and Lothíriel realized that had she not been keeping her injured arm so close to her body, the entire dress would have slid down to expose her bosom. In fact, the entire torso at the back of her gown was ripped open, and displayed her bare back from the very nape of her neck to her tailbone.

"Sweet Elbereth," she breathed. Éowyn said something to Lothíriel she didn't catch and ventured into the adjoining room while Lothíriel took a mental inventory of everything wrong in her appearance. Her hair, which Maren had painstakingly taken the time to curl, was haphazard and wild. Lothíriel tried to run her fingers through it like a comb, but was interrupted by Éowyn returning.

"No clothing of mine will fit you," Éowyn apologized, handing Lothíriel a small stack of folded clothes. Lothíriel regretfully knew how true that statement was; Éowyn was slender everywhere that Lothíriel was not. Lothíriel's bust and hips would never fit into any of Éowyn's dresses. "I took this from my brother's room; Éomer won't mind. There's a pair of trousers and one of his old shirts, too. I found an old belt of his that should keep everything from falling off you."

Lothíriel thanked Éowyn and began to hurriedly strip off the remnants of her dress. Taking care not to unnecessarily jostle her arm, she slipped the soft shirt over her head and tucked it into the trousers. Éowyn had to assist her with tightening the belt. Lothíriel thought she looked like she'd been swallowed, but Éowyn looked at her approvingly, strangely satisfied with the end result. Lothíriel thought that was odd, but was distracted by Éowyn tossing worn leather boots toward her.

"We look to be the same size," she smiled. "You will look less ridiculous wearing these than your sodden slippers." Lothíriel looked down at her slippers and grimaced. "Now make haste."

Lothíriel threw a few words of gratitude over her shoulder as she darted into the corridor. She decided she would have to sacrifice a little time in the name of discretion. After all, imagine the fuss that would occur if some Gondorian were to recognize her, the Princess of Dol Amroth, while she wore trousers, not to mention her bandaged arm. Thus, Lothíriel followed the servants' corridors and passageways. Thankfully the party was still in full swing, unaware of the happenings, and the corridors were largely empty. Lothíriel was able to make it to the war room in record time.

Lothíriel took a fortifying breath and charged towards the doors, where two Swan Knights stood guard. One, the older of the two, looked panicked as she strode towards them. His bushy eyebrows lifted in surprise and his face paled. The younger's eyes widened, his jaw dropped open, and he flushed crimson. Both stood frozen as Lothíriel approached, and she could hear raised voices within the room. She grasped the door handle and wretched it open without delay, ignoring the belated reprimand of the elder guard croaking a distressed "Princess!"

She entered the war room.

Additional Context-  

Nienna -a Queen of the Valar, the sister of Mandos and Irmo (known as the Fëanturi), acquainted with grief and sorrow but also pity and courage. She is ranked as one of the eight Aratar, the most powerful of the Valar. Her element is grief and she is ever mourning for the wounds of the world by evil. Those who listen to her learn wisdom and endurance in grief.

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

Just wondering do you have any thoughts or headcanons about Elfwine or any other of Lothiriel and Eomer's children?

Oh, Anonymous, you’ve hit on the one subject — Éomer’s wife and kids — where I flagrantly cast canon aside to suit my own preferences! I really like many fandom versions of Lothíriel, and I happily read several Éothíriel fics. But for myself…

I have always wanted to see Éomer with a Rohirrim. For starters, Tolkien’s habit of marrying Rohan’s royals to Gondorians has always irked me, as though the people of Rohan somehow aren’t good enough for their own royal family.* It probably wouldn’t bother me if Tolkien hadn’t specifically set up Gondor as the “higher,” more elite kingdom. But he did, and I hate it. I also like a Rohirrim wife for Éomer because we need more women Rohirrim characters, which are SO lacking in canon. There are really only 3 with names, 2 of whom are dead!

So I made him a lady Rohirrim wife (Mereliss, “famously kind”) in place of Lothíriel. Which means, getting AT LAST to your actual question (!), since there is no Lothíriel, there is also no Elfwine. I gave Éomer and Mereliss a daughter instead: Sigewyn (“joyful victory”). I haven’t written a ton about her yet, and not at all past the toddler stage. But if you’re curious—

It took quite a while for the stars to align and Éomer and Mereliss to have a baby. That’s why they named her what they did, in light of that struggle. She was a good baby and an EXTREMELY active toddler who kept her parents constantly on their toes. One of her favorite things to do was to play Horse, where Éomer crawled around on all fours with Sigewyn riding on his back and holding onto his hair like reins. She inherited her grandfather Elfhelm’s gregarious personality (Mereliss is Elfhelm’s daughter) but she would also grow up to be quick witted like her mom and incredibly loyal like her dad. And she would be the first woman to inherit the crown and rule as queen in her own right, since Éomer (under the good influence of Aunt Éowyn) changed the laws of succession so that the line always goes through the oldest child.

I hope that wasn’t a disappointing answer since I’ve got no Elfwine for you! But thanks for asking and please feel free to drop in with your own Elfwine thoughts if you’d like!!

*I know sometimes royal marriages are just matters of political alliance, but I don’t see that here. There was no political motive for Thengel or Éowyn to marry in Gondor, and you won’t convince me that Éomer had to marry Lothíriel in order to maintain good relations with his buddy Aragorn!

[frodothefair]

꧁ Chapter 5 - Friends ꧂

READ ON AO3┃READ FROM THE BEGINNING

SUMMARY : Lothíriel of Dol Amroth marries Éomer King of Rohan, but she despises her new home, with its unfamiliar landscape and customs. She seeks to escape the only way she knows how, but when her plans go awry, she finds healing and love in a place she never expected.

CHAPTER SUMMARY : As Lothíriel reckons with her anger, she sees Éomer King, and her predicament, in a new light.

PAIRING : Éomer / Lothíriel RATING : M┃WORD COUNT : 6.4 k chapter, 29 k total THEMES : arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, angst, whump, mental illness WARNINGS : suicide, violence, medical procedures A/N : May I offer you an Éothíriel in these hard times? (The hard times being the US presidential election?) Also, if you've ever wondered why Éomer King reeks, this chapter might provide an answer.

PREVIEW :

But even so, she wanted to do it, so she did it.

She pushed her elbow against his, and he glanced up as she leaned in closer, her shoulder against his arm.

“Well, my lord,” she said, and proffered a sheepish smile, “I must say, I do not hate you. I never have. Anger is one thing, but I do not confound the two. So as long as you give me no cause to hate you, I accept your charge. If the King of Rohan smells like the excrement of steeds, then I shall tell the King of Rohan exactly what he smells like.”

TAGS : @emmanuellececchi @konartiste @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras @dilettantefeminist @celeluwhenfics Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

[dreambigdreamz]

Person : So who's your favourite from LoTR?

Me : Lothíriel 💕

Person : Who?

Me : Loth. Thi. Ri. El. :)

Person : Is that your original character?

Me : No wtf human how are you even living your life without Éothíriel in it- *proceeds to type out by heart that single paragraph in the Appendix where Lothíriel is mentioned*

Person : That's it?

Me : That's all we need, really.

[snoww-writes]

navigation for @dreambigdreamz writing blog. still growing but hope you enjoy what little is here hehe

Daughter of the Trees

trailer video post

On Our Own | Éomer Éadig

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Miscellaneous

Lord of the Rings

An Éothíriel fic idea (swan lake)

The Shire Papers fic idea

Newsies

The Promise

Sincerely Snow

updated 2 Sep 2024

credit : @saradika-graphics

[themoonlily]

HI OMG I AM SO OVER THE MOON TO HAVE FOUND YOUR TUMBLR—

Sorry, I'm just really over the moon. Your many posts about Lothíriel and the Rohirrim and EVERYTHING LOTR has made my day. I have found my jackpot haha to scroll through your blog and procrastinate while excusing myself as doing some research about LOTR. Bless you and your brilliant blog. Have a great day/night!

Oh, right, may I ask your experience getting into Éothíriel? Did it happen the first time you ever read LOTR or until much, much later? (which is what happened with me and now I can't stop ahh)

Thank you so much for your lovely message! I'm glad you enjoy my tumblr. :) I think at some point I was quite frustrated with how little you see stuff about them online, and then I decided to be the Éothiriel content I wanted to see in the world. :')

As for I got into this ship - I've loved LOTR since I first saw the PJ films, but didn't really engage in any fandom things until the Hobbit trilogy came out: it was at that point that my obsession with Tolkien really took a turn for the worse, so to speak. Even before then, I had especially liked the parts with Rohan, but I decided to try reading LOTR for the first time in English, and I quickly fell in love with the character of Éomer. And I started to devour everything I could find about him, so of course I eventually found out about Lothíriel.

Although Tolkien didn't write much about her and she doesn't appear in the story proper, I felt like there was still a lot in the story to go with - stuff that heavily implied why Éomer married this woman and what might be the circumstances of their relationship. I think it was all set up even as early as the Battle of Pelennor fields, when Imrahil discovers that Éowyn is still alive, and I think that Éomer would feel gratitude and friendship with the person who helped to save his sister (and his only living family at that point). It seems clear to me that they would interact a lot during the rest of the war and after it, being commanders in the army of the West. So he would have familiarity and probably frienship with Lothíriel's family, and it would be politically a very good match, making ties with a powerful noble House that ruled its own fiefdom in Gondor. She might even be the highest-ranking lady in Gondor at that point (excluding Arwen). Furthermore, I think it would be of great interest to Éomer (and other Rohirrim) that Dol Amroth had a cavalry of mounted knights, making them natural allies with a lot to give to each other. Éomer's heir is named Elfwine (=Elf-friend = Elendil), which also speaks of how highly he thought of the friendships he made in Gondor. 

I thought, yes, it makes sense in a lot of ways that Éomer and Lothíriel were married. But there was also a lot of potential for how their relationship came to be, and you could tell their story in so many ways, which really fascinated me. And down into the rabbit hole I went.

That's the short version of why this blog exists, really!  

Have a great day/night, too! :)

[dreambigdreamz]

This is very very beautiful.

But it brought to me a thought.

Centuries later, it will become naturally obscure whether Mithrellas was ever willing to marry Imrazor or if there were other circumstances.

I, as a Tolkien romanticist, like to believe her story was just as beautiful and poignant as the other elven ladies who fell in love with mortals.

But this little point of detail makes up for a sweet headcanon in my mind, that I felt to share with y’all because I haven’t done anything Éothíriel in quite a while.

Imagine Éomer before his wedding to Lothíriel, and they are standing on the shores of Dol Amroth, and he voices his worry honestly that he believes Lothíriel deserves the best and he might not be able to give her that and everyone else probably feels the same way.

Lothíriel replies by holding his hands in her own, saying gently but firmly, “Those who do not know, and those who come after our time, may well speculate on our choices and actions and imagine all sorts of complications when really, it is as simple as the Sun setting to the West, and as sure as another day will dawn again after the Night, that I love you as you love me. And that is all that will matter for us.”

Little might they have known, they would go down through history to be one of the most beloved couple in the fandom 🥰

Yeah, this is probably nonsense, but I just wanted to point out something about outsiders speculating on a love that’s only shared and understood by two people.

I have the honour and happiness to tag: @konartiste !

lesser-known legendarium ladies ✰ mithrellas

Legend holds that MITHRELLAS was a silvan elleth who was traveling with Nimrodel from Lothlórien when she lost her way in the forests of Dor-En-Ernil. It was there that she was discovered by Imrazôr, a prince of the south of Gondor, who supposedly took her as his wife. She thence bore him two children, Galador and Gilmith. Shortly after, she fled from her husband and children, and was never heard from again. From her children came the ruling line of the Princes of Dol Amroth. Over the centuries, the tale of  MITHRELLAS has raised many questions: of her willingness in it, of her ultimate fate, and whether she ever existed at all.

[elesianne]

A little headcanon:

Éomer and Lothíriel both have a great appreciation for family and want kids but for different reasons (+the obvious throne-related reasons of course)

Éomer has been losing members of his family since he was a child and by the time he’s king, he has precious few left, none close ones living with him; he feels an absence where he wants presence

while Lothíriel is from a close family who’s close-knit if not geographically in the case of all of her extended family – but they’re keen letter-writers, too; she’s used to having lots of family around caring for her (in both senses of the word), teaching her, treasuring her, the youngest of the family and the only daughter of the Prince, and to loving them all, even her meddlesome aunt Ivriniel

[heckofabecca]

So last time I was planning for the sequel to Far From the Swan-road (my longest Lothíriel/Éomer fic over on AO3), I was hoping to do 3 (or 4) total stories in the series, all with 11 chapters. I was having trouble figuring out enough plot for part 2, but now that I’ve created 11 pages of headcanons for Théoden’s sisters....

THINGS ARE DIFFERENT mwahaha

[infracti-angelus]

The King and Queen of Rohan: Éomer and Lothíriel

[asimbelmyne]

I'm a quiet lurker here on Tumblr, but this is such an amazing post and I have been compelled to participate in it! There are so many talented writers on here and if this post reaches one of you wonderful people, please add to it. I would love to read whatever it is that you are working on.

Here is a snippet from Lessons in Swordsmanship that I am still messing around with:

Love wasn't something she thought she'd ever have the luxury to feel in her position, resigned to the reality that her ability to make decisions would always be usurped by someone else. Even if she had fallen in love with a man of her choosing, her father's disapproval would have been an impassable boundary, a boundary that he would continue to enforce irrespective of her feelings on the matter. To love freely would have been folly, so she had reserved her love for family alone, prepared to live according to their expectations of her. She had never been fond of doing so, but it was a sacrifice she had been willing to make to ensure their happiness. That sacrifice was beginning to feel more advantageous now. It was far too soon to name the emotion Éomer had instilled in her, but she knew what it would sound like if she were to say it out loud, and she knew what it would look like to onlookers. He had grown on her, and in return, she had grown on him.

Tagging @themoonlily

You are an absolute legend when it comes to Éothíriel!

I don’t know if i have enough power in my hands to start a chain here but hell why not try.

tag writing game

If you are a writer, share a piece of your yet unfinished writing. Can be a sentence or a dialogue or anything really. Short, long, whatever. I want to see what you all are working on and admire some amazing writing. I think it might be fun. Here is mine from forever unfinished one shot.

They will smell like nicotine and he will be able to feel it next time Boromir’s fingers will brush his hair in their usual playful manner. Boromir smelled like nicotine. And like something spicy? Mixed up with something sweet? Scent similar to how chilli pepper chocolate tastes like, when it’s melting on one’s tongue, reaching every nerve and every tastebud, bringing some comfort and some pain at the same time. Sometimes Aragorn wondered if kissing Boromir would also taste like this… Sweet and painful.

I am tagging some people, feel free to ignore or if you want you can just tag someone else who u think may be interested in participating. As always love you all and i hope you are having an amazing day! 🧡🧡

@horsewithaface @boromiiir @aroace-moron @hippodameia @frodothefair @ass-deep-in-demons @fenharel-enaste @lady-arryn @brigwife

[imyourliquor-youremypoison]

LotR fic rec - Éomer x Lothíriel (2)

This is the second part to this post (+ this one because this particular fanfic deserved a post of its own) because one does not simply stop at 10 éothiriel fanfictions when there are so many more to read out there. Binge reading is now a thing, I speak it into existence as I go from fic to fic for this one pairing.

Of Falcons and Mûmakil, by Lialathuveril (114k)

Set a year after the end of the Ring War, this is the story of how Éomer and Lothiriel first met, fell in love and got married. They managed to do this despite several obstacles on the way including his sister, her eldest brother and a foolhardy band of Southrons. I’ve tried to keep Éomer in character to how he’s described in the books, brave and strong, with a sudden temper but also with a keen sense of humour. Lothiriel I see as quite young (she's twenty at the time they meet) and not quite sure of her role in life yet, impulsive and warmhearted

I find once again Lialathuveril’s style. After reading several of The Moonlily’s fanfictions in a row I became used to her prose, but Lialathuveril is just as good even if it’s different. The main difference being that they each have their own way to write Lothiriel, but in this fanfiction I find she became of mix of each of these author’s preferred personality for her.

Despite how long the fanfiction is, it’s easy to read, and rather quick too. You just read chapter after chapter, devouring them all, and before you know it you’ve reached the end and long for more.

I particularly like that we get as much of Eomer’s thoughts on what’s happening as we get Lothiriel’s. It’s not restricted to a single point of view, which allows you to feel closer to Eomer’s character (because sometimes it’s not the case, since he’s present in the books/movies, the authors assume we know him and don’t need to be imersed in his thoughts, therefore they focus on Lothiriel whom we barely know anything about).

Open My Eyes, by The Moonlily (36k)

A young, unusual lady teaches the King of Rohan that some of the most important things you can't see with your eyes.

Very different take on the usual Eothiriel stories, I think it’s fair to say that I had a few expectations when I opened this fanfiction. While it is the usual high quality fiction provided by The Moonlily, some of those expectations were not fulfilled, which is partly to be blamed on me really. As the story progressed I tried to guess what would happen next, and in the end I liked the theory I came up with so much that I was a little disappointed by the final twist.

But aside from all personal feelings I still think that the final reveal wasn’t as dramatic as it could (should?) have been, given how much of a deal the characters made of it.

Other than that it was a very enjoyable story that I recommend to everyone, if only because it’s well written, not so long as to take a lot of your time if you end up not liking it, and because of how different it is from all other eothiriel stories I’ve read (which is 15 so far if you must know).

Second Time Lucky, by heckofabecca  (14k)

When Lothíriel makes a hasty promise to a lady in distress, she must use all her wits to keep her footing. But there's more than one type of falling... 

Very, very nice and funny to read. This Lothiriel has nothing to envy to all the others I’ve read about though she is quite different, and maybe closer to what we imagine a Princess of Dol Amroth to be like.

Bound by Duty, by Lady Bluejay (99k)

Coming to terms with her arranged marriage, Lothiriel has to face returning to Meduseld alone. How will she cope with those who did not want a Gondorian for a Queen? 

A liiittle bit of a slow burn, just enough to have me foaming at the mouth but not so long as to make me wish I’d never opened it. It’s good guys, it’s so good. Of course you’re going to tell me “why, yes, Alyssa, of course it’s good, this is lady bluejay” and you are right my friend, but it doesn’t hurt do say it twice. This is also one of the sexiest fanfictions I’ve read for this couple? I did not expect it, but the intimacy is treated in a very delicate yet bold way. Loved it. Read it.

Heart of a Queen, by The Moonlily (50k)

"You are a Princess of Dol Amroth, Lothíriel, and you were born as brave and proud as your brothers." 

GOD this story gave me emotional blue balls! I am SO HAPPY it isn’t one of The Moonlily’s longer works because it could very well have ended me right then and there. It gives you an in-depth view of Lothiriel’s inner journey and thoughts as she gets familiar with Rohan and its enigmatic king. As a reader, I was just as frustrated as her in face of Eomer’s aloofness and cryptic behavior, maybe even more because I KNEW there was more to it, we just didn’t know what yet.

As always a nice, refreshing new light shines on the characters (still marveling at how the author can do that after writing so many fanfictions for this pairing) especially on Lothiriel, and while it is not my personal favorite take of her persona, it is still a pleasure to read, and a beautiful tribute to Tolkien and his work. Much like Bound by Duty, she is much more princess-ish and feminine and delicate - and everything you might expect a princess to be. Which is all fair and good, but I have a slight preference for the bold, adventurous Lothiriel.

See ya soon for another review of a The Moonlily fanfic (at this point I should just rename this fic rec to ‘the Moonlily fangirling’)

Game of Hearts, by hannah.jpg (31k)

Humiliated at her waning popularity in Minas Tirith, Lothíriel seeks to regain her reputation: by snagging the King of Rohan, of course. What could go wrong?

I had never read about a Lothiriel like this one before this story, and I’m not sure what to think about her. The story is quite short and well-written, I’ll say that first, and I don’t regret the hours spent reading it (I am a very slow reader) because I love reading about new ways this ship gets together, they never disappoint. But I’ll also say that Lothiriel did elicit some contradictory emotions. She gets through quite a bit of character development within 31k words, therefore at the end, she’s where I like her to be (so to say). However, at the beginning, I was very put off by her characterization, and I admit I (maybe) would have stopped reading had the fanfic been 50k+, but I’m glad I didn’t because she got back in my good graces.

The story is told from Lothiriel’s point of view, though to conclude, I’ll add that it was Eomer’s character that transpires the most, even if we only get to see what he thinks through the dialogue. I guess what you don’t say is as telling as the things you say out loud.

A Long and Winding Road (292k) by The Moonlily

To flee from a dreadful fate, she is sent into hiding. But how can she hide her heart from the man who also holds her secret? 

Yeah, that’s right. Another fanfiction from The Moonlily. Another excellent story with good characterization, lovable side characters, heartfelt conversations by the hearth and painful mutual pining. This one made be very horny because the sexual tension between Eomer and Lothiriel was too much for me. Seriously, this story makes you lust for both physical and emotional intimacy, I am not alright as I write this, folks.

It’s also a slow, and I mean very slow, burn. Hold onto ya feels because you are in for a long, long ride my friends. I was just about to snap and maybe pop a vein or something when they finally acted on their feelings, I cannot stress this enough: it’s a slow burn.

Lady of the Sea (53k), by The Moonlily

How the horselord first met the mermaid.

Listen, I’m not going to say anything again, just accept that I will rec all of The Moonlily’s fanfictions and move on. I loved Lothiriel’s character in this one, I always do when she’s a bit on the feisty side, I don’t know I just think it really suits her and it compliments Eomer’s personality too. As usual, their meeting was excellent in its originality and the skillful way the author always writes that first encounter.

NOTE: I should like to add that if any of the authors whose works are mentioned in my fic recs see this, they are free to keep, use, do whatever they want with the cover(s) I made.

[frodothefair]

So when a couple lives rent-free in your head, you start to think all the songs are about them. To that end, Éothíriel is starting to collect a playlist.

Granted, this one is about a wlw couple or at least that's heavily implied (warning: it's incredibly catchy) but this is the part that got to me:

I just wanna get to know ya Guess I didn't quite think it through (nah-uh, girl) Fell in love with the thought of you Now I'm choked up, face down, burnt out

I even rewrote a part of it to suit Éothíriel, from Éomer's POV:

Well, back in my land I've got a mountain of gold Okay, maybe it's a Golden Hall And some vassals (don't worry, they're cool) I heard you like valor I've got a sword and a lance and even an arrow So baby, let's get freaky Let's make this bed get squeaky

*facepalm* I am so ashamed of myself, don't look at me.

And this one! I don't even know what it's about, but I guess it's got horses. And that band name! 80s indeed.

@konartiste

[theemightypen]

éothíriel and 20. …on a scar for the kiss prompts?

Since the very first, Lothiriel has made it her mission to learn everything she can about Eomer. No, they had not married for love, but if he is to be the man that she would spend the rest of her life with, is it so very wrong of her to want to know him?

It does not help that he seems determined to remain unknowable, even after their wedding. And their wedding night! And the many nights following, when they have been as close as it is possible for two people to be! He seems perfectly willing to share his bed with her– and it should be said that she is not unwilling, either, because for all of his gruffness and his mighty temper, there is no denying that her husband is a very handsome man, and a good one, underneath it all–but everything else about him he keeps sealed up tighter than an oyster.

She suspects, much like an oyster, there is a treasure inside of her taciturn, stubborn husband. If only he would tell her!

At least she can say she has learned the physicality of him. She has spent many hours–likely more than she should–studying the planes of his face, the way his mouth curves in the smallest of smiles, as if it is against his will to do so. The way his eyes darken when they kiss, the overwhelming heat of his hands on her skin, the slight-but-not-unpleasant sting of his beard.

And the scars. Those fascinate her most of all.

It is not as if they are unexpected–she is the daughter of a war-time Prince, sister to three warriors, and cousin to a ranger. Lothiriel knows very well that such lives lend themselves to injuries and thus, scars. And it is very clear that Eomer’s life as a marshal has been no different.

Eomer does not like to talk about them–Eomer does not like to talk about most things, from what Lothiriel can tell–but she finds herself looking at them when his back is turned in their rooms, or when he is asleep beside her in the slowly dying light of the fire.

It is not that he is sharp with her, nor unkind. He is just…distant, though they spend most of their nights together. His answers–when she can eke them out of him–are short and to the point. Lothiriel does not mind, not truly; she has always liked puzzles, and her husband is the most intriguing puzzle she has ever faced.

“Eomer,” she murmurs, one night when he is very nearly asleep, face pressed against her collarbone. One of her hands is stroking through his hair–the full long length of it, made more golden than ever by the dim firelight and she feels absurdly envious of it–the other resting gently on his arm.

“Hm?” A customary response, similar to other times she has spoken–or tried to, anyways–to him like this.

“How did this come to be?” She asks, sliding her finger along the raised, curved edge of a scar on his shoulder.

He lifts his head to meet her eyes. Confusion, for once, is writ plainly on his often stoic face. “The scar?”

“Yes,” Lothiriel says.

“Why?”

Ridiculous man, she thinks, though it’s tinged with fondness, even now he cannot give me a straight answer! “Because I wish to know,” she says.

Eomer’s brow furrows. After a moment of silence, he finally murmurs, “An Orc’s arrow grazed me. I was sixteen.”

Frowning, she covers the scar with her hand. “That is so young, to be fighting Orcs.”

“Most Eorlingas are not given the luxury of long childhoods,” he says. “I joined my first eored at fifteen.”

At fifteen, Lothiriel had finally managed to convince Ada that she was old enough to ride along the shore with only two Swan Knights for guards. How different their lives have been!

“Was it very painful?” She asks, unable to keep herself from asking.

Eomer shifts, leaning his chin on his free hand while letting her keep her grip on his opposite arm and the scar there. “At the time, I thought it so. But I have endured worse since then.”

That makes her frown in the way Aunt Ivriniel always warned her against–deeply, with lines pulling at the corners of her mouth, oh, Lothiriel, you have wrinkles before you are thirty, if you keep making faces like that–and it is her turn to shift, rolling herself out from under him and turning on her side to meet his now very confused stare. Before he can ask what she’s doing, she stretches forward, replacing her hand with her mouth. The scar is puckered, strange feeling under her lips.

There, she thinks, all better.

“Lothiriel,” Eomer says, in a tone that she doesn’t recognize, “what was that for?”

Abruptly, her cheeks flood with color. It is a childish notion, and a silly one at that. To think that her kiss can heal a hurt over a decade old.

“In Gondor,” she says, looking away from his piercing, searching gaze, “when children are hurt, we tell them that a kiss can heal any ill. Or help heal it, anyways. I–it was foolish–”

Her words peter out. The silence is like a weight, pressing down on her chest. For all that she has tried–and wanted–to know her husband, perhaps he does not have the same interest, when it comes to her? Perhaps he really had just wanted someone to fill the role of Queen, to have an heir quickly and then be done with, like Lady Istoril had said–

Please, she thinks, I want to know you, and I want you to know me, we need not always be such strangers–

The sudden press of his thumb and forefinger around her chin makes her jump. “You are so kind,” he says, an even more unrecognizable tone in his voice. “So very kind, lȳtlu gesinge.”

“I try to be,” Lothiriel stutters, unmoored by the softness in his expression. “I–you deserve kindness, Eomer, after all you have suffered–”

He snorts, and pulls her into his arms, mirroring their positions from before. “I deserve to be horsewhipped, for not speaking to you of this–of anything–more easily,” Eomer grumbles. “Words are not my strong suit, Lothiriel, but I have been miserly with them with you. I am sorry.”

Stunned and elated, all at once, she presses closer to him. Her hand brushes along his ribs as she moves. She feels another scar there, thin and jagged.

“You are forgiven,” Lothiriel says, “if you tell me the story behind this scar as well.”

Eomer’s lips turn up in the small smile she knows so well by now, but it looks anything but reluctant this time.

“Very well,” he agrees. “But it must receive the same treatment as the one before it.”

They are up very, very late. Eomer has almost too many scars to count, and words to go with them, now that she has pried them from him.

Just like I thought, Lothiriel thinks to herself as she yawns through the morning meal, just like an oyster.

Although she suspects that the treasure to be found within Eomer will be worth much more than a pearl.