Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A young woman sat rigidly on a train. Raven black hair, twisted into a neat bun, framed her pale, resolute face – the sharp contrast rendered her complexion a shade of marble. Large, livid (bluish-grey) eyes crowned by the medium arches of dark eyebrows. Long lashes, dark like her stern brows. The rosy lip color added the only splash of color to her face. Makeup was a wonderful thing, hiding the pale pink of hopelessness in her lips and smoothing the weary lines of her already pale face.

She gazed steadily out the window. The browns and greens of the earth and its life blurred together beneath the never-ending blue of the sky. Laughs pulled her out of the empty reverie the train rocked her into. She glanced towards the sound, noting a group of uniformed men. Military men. They did not hold her interest for long – it was a military man who put her in this situation in the first place. She should despise him, but he was also still a beacon in her mind. She turned her attention back to the nameless world outside the window while her thoughts turned the hand of time backward.

Many young ladies of medium rank went to the Houses of Healing to train, but very few ever came to the White City to learn from the Warden of the Royal Library. He was a wizened old man, rumored to be one-third elf. While one of her ancestors was elven, she was the twenty-third generation. 
She loved spending her time in the library. High ceilings supported by intricately carved arches. It was a structure of history, built nearly two thousand years ago, housing history. While the oldest of parchments and artifacts were kept in the archives, the vast basement beneath the main floor, there was still a great deal of history that could be found in the upper levels, for many original works were adapted to suit the passing of the ages. Somehow, she found a new nook each time she came (which was practically every day). 

That evening found her with a pile of books covering the Second Age. In the last four years since she was fourteen, she studied a variety of subjects to achieve the rank of historian. The next rank was that of curator, specializing in one subject. She could never become Warden – her life was too short to learn every subject in depth. But she could be a curator of history (which was still quite broad). It normally took another four years of intensive study, and she was a year away from attaining that rank.

A knock on the door. She automatically called, “Enter.” She expected it was just a servant with some refreshment from her thoughtful aunt. Her zeal for knowledge often made her tardy, even absent, for meals.

“Excuse me, miss,” the servant said hesitantly. 

She looked up from her book. The servant had no bowl of fruit or glass of water, in hand. Instead, there was a letter, held out to her. She wordlessly took it. The seal of her family insignia stared coldly at her. It was not a thick letter – so there was nothing from her brothers or their wives. With a tremulous sigh, she opened it. Two short lines. Then the bold, hard lines of her father’s signature.

Your presence is required in Dol Amroth. Your mother is not expected to live long. ~ Imrahil

Within the next day, she bade a stoic farewell to her kind aunt, the Warden of the Royal Library, and the library itself. Then soon after, a few days of travel by boat (wind and water was a temperamental thing)  brought her to her childhood home on the coast. Her mother embraced her. It was weaker than it used to be. 

When she asked the healers, they said that it started four years ago. Persistent pain in the bones, which slowly worsened. Then came some swelling and redness in various parts of her body. They could only move her around on a portable sofa now. She was called because she was the only one who could give constant companionship. Her father was often away, attending to affairs of his rank with his sons. Her eldest brother’s wife took on the mantle her mother once wore. But it was only that of representing the family before the world. Her second eldest brother’s wife managed the family’s household affairs. Her favorite brother, the one just older than her, was not married yet. Amrothos. He knew nothing of nursing (and she only knew just a little bit more, thanks to a stint in the Houses of Healing during her training).

Her brothers and the rest of the family all continued to live their lives, but she found that her days were much lonelier. Sure, her family had a decent library, but there was nothing new for her to read. Her mother often had good thoughts when she had the strength to hold a long conversation. But most times, she did not. Instead, they spent many an hour in the private gardens with nothing but the sound of crying gulls, restless waves, and whispering wind to fill the silence. Just the two of them, and sometimes Amrothos. Out of sheer boredom, she started to garden. Worrying about the plants and the weather gave her a small reprieve from worrying about her mother. Then there came a war to worry about. It started barely two weeks after she had resettled. It had been brewing for a long time with scattered skirmishes and battles, according to her favorite brother, but she had not known. (After all, how could she know when all her hours were spent in the quiet sheltering embrace of ignored texts?)

Her father and her brothers all left her alone in Dol Amroth following the victory. Even her brothers’ wives left. They all left her alone. Alone to shoulder the responsibility of fulfilling her family’s duties to the people. Alone to care for her dying mother. And her mother, strong still in her weakness, patient in her suffering, was the only warmth in her life. They did not tell her when they would return. Sometimes, a brother would return. But it was only for a measly two days. Amrothos was kinder. (He was her favorite for a reason). He spent a fortnight with their family in the capital city, then with her and their mother, and then back to the city. He returned to spend the winter celebrations.

Her mother died while her family was in Rohan, celebrating the spring and the marriage of her cousin she did not know. A marriage between two different countries. What was the purpose of that? She immediately sent a message to her joyous relatives. But she did not know that her father would only ignore her message. She did not know that he tucked it into his pocket and forgot. She did not know that he went traveling to caves of wonder and forests of old – that the servants had to burn that outfit since it was too soiled, too worn out for reuse.

She stood alone as she arranged and held the funeral service. She told the people that showed up that there might be another when her family returned. She stood alone when they locked the family crypt. She stood alone while they carved her mother's name, adding the long list of bygone relatives. Then, she returned alone to the empty place that she once called home. That night, she grieved alone, whispering to herself everything she remembered about her mother.

From winter to spring, it was supposed to be a time of hope and budding life. All she felt was the cold of winter in her soul, the melancholy of long nights in her days. There was no hope, no life. The world was cruel. The world was cold. The world was dead. She often thought of jumping off tall somethings. Just to see if her father would come running. (Amrothos would, right?)

Then, one night. One night made all the difference. She stood on the cliff’s edge. One step. One step into churning waters crashing into boulders. Maybe it would be quick. Maybe she would suffer. How much worse would it be than the empty hell she existed in now?

Someone snatched her from the edge. For the first time in what felt like forever, she saw light. She stumbled forward, grasping at the beams of light until she stood in it. She failed to notice that it did not fill her with warmth. Warmth and life like her mother gave or the burning joy of her brother. It was just light. White, cold, and unfeeling like winter. But compared to the darkness around her, it was so much better. He was the second son of a lesser lord. A soldier. Assigned to Dol Amroth for training. He told her that she was beautiful. She believed him. She gave everything she had left of herself to him. He left her two days later when her family returned. Said he was being reassigned. He’d write to her. She never got a letter. Maybe he forgot.

A month passed. Then two. She missed her cycles both times. The healer told her the truth. She wanted to hide it. How could she when the healer reported directly to her father? She wrote to her brother. Then two weeks later, she was summoned to her father's office. He stood at the window, back facing her. A statue of harsh iron.

"No daughter of mine would have done what you have," he said coldly. "You ought to be turned out of this house. You are lucky that your brother has connections. He found someone who would marry the likes of you." He turned. His grey eyes glinted like sharpened swords, ready to pierce the guilty. His mouth was set in a firm line, not yet frowning. "For all that I have done for you, this is how you repay me?"

She was thankful for her brother, she really was. But she felt nothing but cold rage towards the man that stood before her. She straightened and answered with collected force, "You have done nothing for me. You were a father in every way to my brothers, but only a father in name to me. You abandoned me." He frowned severely at her words. She continued boldly, "In Mother's last days, you abandoned her." She saw the fury set fire to his glinting eyes. She briskly turned and left the room, slamming the door loudly. Maybe she will not be allowed dinner, but it was not like she had an appetite since her mother died.

She later learned the details in a letter from Amrothos. Her husband was a man of Rohan. The brother of the wife of her cousin. A stranger.

On her departure from Dol Amroth, she finally saw her brother, Amrothos. He enveloped her in strong arms, love emanating from his heart. “I’m sorry,” he murmured brokenly. Tears shone unshed in eyes. Tears for their mother, for her.

She finally dared to whisper the name that first gave her light in those dark days. Her brother stared at her. Shock added to the sorrow written across his face. Then he whispered back, hesitant at first, “I know him. He recently wed …” She did not hear the rest. She hated that man, for his lies and his deceit. But he was her light then. And that light just died. Now, she could only hate herself. She was winter, she was darkness. Who would want winter and darkness?

She said with the ghost of a smile, "Thank you, brother, for everything.”

She boarded the ship to Minas Tirith without another word. Stared blankly at the passing landscape until she got to the city where she transferred to a train.

The conductor walked through, announcing the next stop was Aldburg. Her final destination. Her future. An older man greeted her. Introduced himself as an elder. Of what, she did not hear. He walked her to an old truck, carrying her two suitcases. (How on earth did she manage to get her whole life in two suitcases? She lost her life when her mother died. She existed, now). 

She scarcely noticed anything when she arrived. The ceremony, short and with no fanfare, passed quickly. They exchanged a few words prior to the ceremony, but the weight of those words did not sink in.  Her new husband barely spoke unless prompted, and she supposed that they'll coexist together. Until her father's ire passed, at least. She did not see those warm embers he carried. Embers of hope. Not until they had driven in silence to his home. Then reality crashed upon her. He spoke. Two simple words. (Why was it always “two” that changed her life – two sentences, two months, two days, two suitcases, now two words.) Two words that sparked something insider her long forgotten.

His eyes, warm amber, met the grey blue of her own. He said, "Welcome home."

Chapter Text

A horseman surveyed the rolling hills around him in the twilight hours from a grassy hillock.  Below him, his herd grazed peacefully. A river cut through the land, glistening under the setting sun, until it ended in a small lake surrounded by trees. A wind danced lightly around him, playing with his steed's mane. A slow smile spread across his face - this was home, where he belonged. It was still summer, and his herd would be fine under the cool night. He turned his own horse around and spurred him forward. He rode by fields of hay - he will need to hire temporary workers to help him with that - as he headed home. The dog barked happily at his return. After getting his horse settled, he finished the other chores in the barn before turning in to his own house.

Two hours later found him at his desk, belly full and heart content. His mind was slightly stressed, sorting out bills and paperwork was never his favorite chore. He only had a lantern for light. Even though the old house had electricity, he found no purpose in using it for other than basic appliances. The sound of a car aroused him from his calculations. He only looked up when he felt another set of eyes on him.

"I thought you were only getting supplies," he said calmly, greeting the newcomer with a raised brow. "I really could have used your help with the chores, Amrothos."

"Éomer, you are not my brother," was the light response as the young, dark-haired man entered and sprawled out on a chair. "Things...happened."

"What happened?"

Amrothos looked at his friend and sighed, "Look here, I'm really thankful that you allowed me stay around and learn the ranching business, but I've got to go back home."

"Your father?"

"No, my sister. She's in a...predicament. Father's solution will kill her, I think, so I had to send him an express. Now, I'm in a predicament." The last part was said without malice or frustration - just matter-of-factually.

"What is the predicament? Mayhaps I can be of assistance."

Amrothos gave him that long-suffering sigh and responded, "A little over a year ago, she had to come home to care for Mother. With the war going on and everything, the burden of care fell solely on her shoulders. But then Mother died while the rest of the family were here. I know she sent a message, but Father never saw it. She had to do everything on her own, and something happened. She's...with child. Father will cast her out if she isn't married soon." Words continued to flow from his mouth about suitors that his father would consider. Suitors that he would never approve of.

Éomer did not respond. Instead, he thought of his own sister as Amrothos shared his story, or rather, his sister's. Grief and loneliness - he was familiar with both and knew their power. But he had his sister and his friends around him. He mused over Amorothos words, gleaning out the implied solution. Was he willing? The memory of sister's empty eyes flashed through his mind. Then he said quietly, "What if I were to offer for her hand in marriage?"

Éomer's words stopped Amrotho's tirade now. Amrothos just looked at him- there was no surprise in his eyes. He could not bring himself to care that he was set up for this. None of the girls in the nearby Aldburg, Edoras, or all of Rohan attracted him, anyways. Maybe this was a sign.

"First thing tomorrow, we will go down to Aldburg. You'll go to the post office, and I to the hardware store," Éomer decided. "On the way back, we'll see if Éothain is free."

"Hardware store?" Of course, that was the thing Amrothos would pick up on.

"Well, this house has running water, but it's just cold water," he explained. "I do not think your sister..."

Amrothos interupted him, "Her name is Lothíriel."

Over the next week, he, Amrothos, and Éothain labored to finish all the necessary repairs to make the house less of a bachelor's den. In addition to installing the water heater, there were pipes to place and wires to replace. When they finished, Éothain's wife, Marta, came over with their daughter to clean up. Then Amrothos took his leave - he had a long drive to get to Minas Tirith before he could catch a boat to take him to Dol Amroth. A week later, he received the details of his bride's travel itinerary.

Finally, the day arrived. From the time he offered to this day was a mere two and some weeks. Who'd knew that he would go about this all backwards? Such thoughts ran through his mind as he performed his morning chores. As he finished up, he reminded himself that it will be alright. He put the dog up in the shed with water and went back into the house to change into something more appropriate for a wedding. In a few hours, he'll be a husband. In a few hours, he'll have a baby on the way. A little one who was innocent of whatever that happened to the mother. A little one who deserved all his love. After combing his hair back and tying it into a half-up-do, he trimmed his beard.  He initially pulled out his formal military suit. He may have been a soldier in the past, but now, he was just a rancher. He instead pulled out his brown suit, pairing it with a blue top. Before he left, he pulled out something he kept beneath his shirts. A watch, his father's watch. He wound it until the steady tick resounded in the quiet room. Just like his father was to his mother, he will be steady and true.

Another two hours later found him sitting in the elder's house. He arrived a half-hour earlier than he needed to. At first, he paced nervously before settling on the sofa. It was too short for his long limbs, but it would do. Restless, he fiddled with his hat and watched the clock's hands count the time. Finally, he heard the elder's cheerful voice.

He rose immediately when the elder entered, followed by her, his bride. She was slim and tall, likely around Éowyn's height. She was pale, and she glanced around the room distractedly. There was something about her that turned his usual confidence into a mush of nerves.

The elder began, "Éomer Éomundson, this is Lothíriel Belfalas of Dol Amroth."

"Lothi," she said, offering her hand. "That's what everyone calls me."

He automatically took her proffered hand, giving a stilted bow. Formalities like this were still not in his nature. He said simply, "Éomer."

The elder's wife helpfully interjected before the silence grew uncomfortable, "There are some refreshments here," she gestured towards a side table with a pitcher of lemonade. "We will be in the Hall with Éothain and Marta when you two are ready."

As the older couple left, he set his hat down before moving towards the side table. He poured out two cups of the lemonade, handing her one before taking a sip from his. She took it quietly and spoke again, "Now that you've seen me...do you have any doubts?"

"No, ma'am," he answered simply. He added hesitantly, "Are you having second thoughts?"

She shook her head, asking instead, "Do you think you could love the...baby?"

He responded immediately, earnestly, "Yes, I do." A half-smile formed just thinking about how much life even a baby could bring to his old house. And if he could love the baby, he could even love the mother. Not that he told her that. Instead he looked down at his hands and set his glass down. What was there for him to say that would not be awkward? But then, this silence settling on them was just as much as casual small talk.

"I...um...is there anything you'd like to ask me?" she questioned, her voice trembled ever so slightly. Maybe she was just as nervous as he was, except she expressed it through words while he preferred silence.

His nerves were still all haywire, making it difficult for him to maintain eye-contact. He shook his head slightly, then answered, "No." A short breath to gather his thoughts. "You're so fine. I can't...I can't believe that any man would do this to you."

She went silent at that. He must have struck a sour chord, so he changed the topic, "Would you like a few moments to yourself before we go out to the others?"

"No, thank you. There is no need to wait any longer."

The ceremony passed quickly. It was not a traditional ceremony...just the parts where they repeated the vows. He had completely forgotten about a ring, but she insisted that she did not need one. Maybe she just was not ready for the physical reminder. But maybe one day she'd be interested in doing the full ceremony - there was something special in the traditional rites and rituals. As he had to do with many of his thoughts, he dismissed the idea. Instead, he watched how she interacted with his two best friends. She was perfectly cordial with them with an undercurrent of warmth. She'd get on just fine with them.

As he walked to his truck, Éothain came up beside him with two suitcases and handed them to him. Behind him, Marta was chatting to his new wife about something or the other.

Hands now free, Éothain clapped him on the back and congratulated him, "Well, Éomer, welcome to the married club."

Éomer smiled slightly as Marta called him to not rush off because she had a casserole. Éothain hurried off to help out Marta. He got in to the truck, carefully setting it on the seat when Lothíriel, or rather Lothi, handed it to him. Then she also alighted into the truck and shut the door.

At first, the drive was filled with silence as he navigated his way through the town. One hand on the wheel, the other keeping the casserole from sliding forward. He risked a glance at Lothi. She stared out her window, watching the passing scenery. Eventually, he was out of the town on the road.

The hour-long drive was mostly filled with silence. Every now and then, Lothi would ask a question, and Éomer would answer. But it was not too bad - he was still getting used to the idea of actually being married. They arrived, and he could hear the dog barking and whining to greet the newcomer. But he had his arms full with suitcases and a casserole, which Lothi quickly took.

"Sounds like someone is upset," Lothi commented as she climbed up the porch steps. He tucked one of her suitcases under his arm to free up a hand to open the door.

"That's the dog, Gúthwinë," he explained. "Put him in the shed so he wouldn't jump all over you." Just before she crossed the threshold, he said, "Welcome home."

Something in her eyes alighted. He could see a hint of sorrow behind the cordial front she put up. She allowed a half-smile and a slight nod before she turned and entered the house. The house was sparsely furnished - he had to get rid of a lot when he first entered the house two years ago. He set his hat on the rack, gesturing with a head tilt towards the kitchen. He then put down the bags at the foot of the stairs before removing the casserole from her hands. He put it on a counter in the kitchen. He noted that it was easier to be around her when his hands where busy.

Then the house tour began. The kitchen and dining room was self-explanatory. He then grabbed her bags and climbed the stairs. She followed close behind, footsteps light compared to his own. They passed the first one, his sister's old bedroom. Then his parents' old room, now hers. Then the bunk room, his room. An extra bed keeping his company.

"Did you have a brother?" she wondered aloud.

"A cousin," answered. "He used to stay over a lot. He's in Edoras now." Then he showed her the bathroom with it's nearly installed indoor plumping with hot and cold water.

Dinner turned out to be a slightly enlightening, but still awkward affair. It was alright, though. After all, it took a little bit awkward for two strangers to become acquaintances. Once they were both finished, he took her plate and washed up. As he did so, she asked him, "Why did you agree to this?"

"When I heard of your situation, I thought..." he paused to recall what he thought. "I thought that it maybe this was how it meant to be."

She scoffed slightly, "Meant to be..."

"Do you want anything?" She shook her head in response.

"Well," he continued thoughtfully. "Ranchers get to bed early. You have everything you need?" A quiet "yes" from. "Goodnight then."

He did not normally shut his door, but he did tonight. He needed some time to himself. It has been a long day, yet also short. He pulled out an old book. It was once his mother's, gifted to her by her mother. She always wrote the dates of important life events, insisting that one day people will forget the songs. And she was right. Some forgot, many died. He sang it sometimes, but even the words were slipping from his mind. He neatly wrote his own name and hers.

He closed the book and ran his hand through his hair. He allowed himself to really remember. His childhood, his parents, and the events that led up to who he was now. Love, suffering, persistence. Whatever the future might hold, he will persist.