By the Sea.

Chapter Seven: A New Life.

–

There was something wrong.

Over a month had passed since Lothíriel had spoken about her true feelings to her husband. She thought that they would speak and learn about one anothers character, but she hardly saw Éomer. She knew that he was busy with his duties, rebuilding his kingdom, creating treaties and ensuring the safety of his people, but she felt that they had not progressed one bit since the conversation that had occurred in their room one month ago.

They were married and yet, they were virtually strangers.

He had continued to sleep in the room attached to the parlour and so, sometimes, she did not even see him for days at a time. None had spoken about the King’s decision to sleep in separate quarters… Lothíriel had a sneaking suspicion that they did not know. If they knew then she was certain that the staff would be gossiping; she did not hear any whispered rumours, much to her relief. However, it was frustrating and she felt incredibly lonely during the nights with no one to talk to.

The days were a different matter.

She spent her time with the other ladies of the court, speaking with them and trying to enjoy their company whilst they completed mundane tasks like embroidery and weaving. They were polite but as expected, they kept their distance due to her status. When embroidery and their company became too much to bear, she found herself in the library. She had made it into her sanctuary, a place of escape, where she could absorb her being into any and every book she chose to read.

Those moments alone were precious to her.

But Lothíriel began to crave for companionship. And so, she found it in a most unlikely person; Elfhelm, Marshal of the East-mark. He was off duty for a few months and with nothing to do, they spent their afternoons together sitting in the royal library and speaking with one another until she was called away to attend a certain duty. Together, they would travel through Edoras meeting the various people that contributed to the kingdom and it’s prosperity. Once, she even had the privelege to visit his home; she felt honoured to be regarded as a close acquaintance.

She enjoyed their conversations and debates on these particular walks and moments in the library; she found him to be an incredibly wise, intelligent and loyal man. There were moments when she felt uneasy in his presence, but that was mostly when he gazed at her with a strange expression glittering within his jade eyes, as though he was trying to discern her innermost thoughts and desires.

Elfhelm did not ask her about the tears she had shed a month prior, as he was more worried about the draining pallor of her skin and the fatigue she displayed upon her face. The newly crowned Queen of Rohan tried to appease his concerns, but it was to no avail. And he was right to be worried.

She was feeling unwell.

In the past week, nausea and vomiting had afflicted her in the morning and sometimes during the night as well. What she found utterly strange, was the tenderness of her breasts two weeks prior. They had grown swollen and had been incredibly sensitive to touch; then, the purging began. She did not know what was wrong with her and she did not want to unnecessarily alarm the people of the Meduseld. So, she quietly endured her trials.

But a woman could only endure so much and today was the final straw.

“You wished to speak with me, my lady?”

Lothíriel stood awkwardly at the door leading to the head housekeeper’s quarters. “I do… May I enter?”

The middle-aged woman with the strawberry coloured hair, curtsied low and stood aside to allow Lothíriel to pass through the doors. She had visited the servants’ quarters once with Elfhelm, so that she could introduce herself to the staff. They had been delighted to see their new Queen and Lothíriel found their easy manner appealing and comforting.

Nervously, Lothíriel paced the stone floor of the housekeeper’s room without uttering a word. She paused and looked at the woman that watched her with quiet curiosity and concern.

“I—Forgive me for calling upon you so late in the evening, Feger,” she apologised.

The woman smiled warmly, her blue eyes shimmering with motherly concern. “Think nothing of it, my lady. How may I help you?”

Chewing her lip, Lothíriel sat down upon the empty chair beside her. She motioned for the woman to join her and waited until she was seated comfortably. Once settled, she took a deep breath spoke, “I did not know who else to turn to… And you have been kind to me with your attentions.”

“You are more than deserving,” Feger answered, noting her Queen’s trembling hands as she brushed away the stray lock of ebony hair from her shoulder.

“I think that I am unwell and I do not know what the cause is,” Lothíriel blurted.

Feger sat up abruptly, frowning at her words, “Unwell? Surely you should visit the royal healer!”

Lothíriel nodded, “I understand, but I have been terribly nauseous and the food that I eat is mostly purged before the morning’s end. It has been utterly vile and I wish for it to stop, but I feel no other illness except fatigue. I did not wish to alarm the people of the house unnecessarily, which is why I have come to you… What say you? Should I still see the healer?”

A thoughtful expression crossed the older woman’s face, her lips quirking into a faint smile, “Aye, I do believe you should seek the healer’s aid. However, I may have the reason for your condition.”

She frowned; did she hear a faint trace of amusement in the housekeeper’s voice? “You do?”

“Indeed,” Feger said with smile, “You may be with child, my lady.”

Lothíriel’s surroundings grew faint. She blinked heavily, “I may be what?”

“You may be with child,” Feger repeated patiently. “However, it would be wise for you to seek out the royal healer in the morning, to be certain.”

The young Queen nodded numbly, rising from her seat to leave the room. “Thank you for your aid, Feger,” she whispered, waltzing out of the room without a backward glance.

–

She sighed as she sat upon the enriched chair beside the hearth. The door to her chambers opened, allowing a faint gust of wind to enter and cause the flames of the fire to flicker.

“Are you well?” Her husband asked softly from the doorway. He closed the chamber doors behind him and made his way to the empty chair that sat across from Lothíriel’s. “Gleawman said that I should come and see you.”

“I am well. And you, my lord?” Lothíriel sighed irately at the healer’s interference; she cursed him for informing her husband about her illness.

There was a pause. “I—am well.”

“Good,” she replied tersely.

Éomer frowned at her behaviour, “Are you certain that you are well?”

“Why should I not be? I have not seen you in days, so you cannot know how I fare.”

“Ah,” he mumbled, realising the reason for her discomposure, “Yes, I have been incredibly busy. The kingdom demands much of my time. I am sorry that we have not had the chance to speak to one another in great length.”

“‘Tis fine, my lord. I understand that your duty falls before other matters. We have not spoken in great length since you chose to remain in separate chambers.”

“I see…”

Lothíriel kept her eyes upon the flames, “I have happy news for your country.”

“Oh?” He raised his eyebrow; her tone was anything but happy.

“I am with child. Your heir.”

The silence grew so thick between them, that she felt as if she would suffocate.

“Are you certain?” Éomer questioned quietly.

“Aye, Gleawman confirmed the news. He is an apt healer, he would not speak falsely.”

The King of Rohan released a long, suffering sigh. “You have my leave to terminate the child.”

Lothíriel snapped her head up, looking incredulously upon her husband. “What?”

“I said that, you have my leave to terminate this child.”

“Are you mad, man?!” She almost shrieked.

“Nay, I simply do not wish to force you to bear my child. You claim that you do not love me and I do not wish for you to feel that I have laid an unbearable circumstance upon your shoulders. I would not feel right, knowing that you bear my child when you do not harbour any sentiments towards me.”

She rose from the chair and shook her head, “Your brain has been addled, my lord,” she hissed.

Éomer scowled dangerously, standing also as he fisted his hands together, “You will not speak to me in this manner, Lothíriel. You may not love me, but I expect and deserve respect from my wife.”

“How can I love you when I hardly ever see you, King Éomer?! You were too busy to even notice my condition; you gave me your word that we would learn about one another… Speak to one another. But I feel as if I hardly know you,” she scoffed, “I feel as if I knew more about you before I spoke the truth!”

“You are being unreasonable.”

“I am not,” she snapped. “You do not speak with me and yet you have the audacity to tell me that you give me your leave to terminate my child? I believe that you forget, this child is also of my blood. I will not terminate this child like a common whore; I would rather see myself dead.”

“Your words are bold, my lady,” his voice was ice cold.

Lothíriel stared at her husband, frozen in his gaze.

Was this the kind, gentle man that had shown her such affection upon the plains of Rohan? Was this the same man that feared his dreams and sought comfort in her arms?

Looking upon him now, she could see the darkened shadows beneath his eyes and the haggard demeanour and appearance of his body. His brown eyes were rimmed with red, alluding to his fatigue. She was being selfish and she was being rude. Anyone in their right mind could see the suffering within his eyes—see the toll that his duties had taken upon him. And she was making it worse.

She sighed in defeat, “I do not wish to argue with you,” she whispered as she slumped back down into the chair, “I will bear you this child… But I need to have you beside me. I cannot do this alone,” tears brimmed in her eyes as she looked down at her lap.

Her words startled him into dropping his defensive stance. Éomer kneeled down before her, “You are not alone, Lothíriel,” he soothed.

“Then why do I feel so?”

He sighed, “I am afraid that I have focused my attentions solely upon my kingdom and have neglected my duties as a husband. Will you forgive me?”

“There is nothing to forgive. You were right, I am being unreasonable.”

“I should not have spoken to you in such a manner about the child. I—I feared that you would resent me if I forced you to endure this child-bearing.”

“I do not resent you,” Lothíriel said adamantly, allowing her husband to take her hands in his, “The situation cannot be helped and it is sooner than I would have liked it to be, but I do not resent you.”

“We will raise this new life together; you will make a wonderful mother.”

“You think so?” She sniffed, looking at him fearfully.

“Aye, any child would be proud to have a mother such as yourself. I know that I am proud to call you my wife.”

He stood then, and Lothíriel thought that he would leave her in the large chambers, all alone. She clasped his hands once more and startled him with her forwardness, “Wait!”

Éomer waited for her to speak.

“Do—do not go…” She started slowly, “I do not wish to be alone… Please stay.”

He nodded, smiling tightly at her request. “Very well. We shall deliver the happy news to the people of Edoras tomorrow in the evening, during the feast that will be arranged. I will dispatch notices to the other cities and strongholds of Rohan… I am certain that many will wish to come and pay their respects to the unborn heir,” he said wryly.

Lothíriel smiled sadly, “I am frightened…”

“You need not be. I am here.”

Upon his assurance, she paused in hesitation before stepping towards him bravely. The look of shock upon his face made her want to laugh, but she remained silent as she gently pressed her body against his for a comforting embrace. It had been so long since she was held in such an innocent manner! The warmth from his body surrounded her as he awkwardly put his arms around her, holding her close with his chin upon the crown of her head. She burrowed herself deeper into his chest, clinging to his strong frame for support.

The news she had received about her pregnancy had startled and scared her witless. She was carrying a child… A child whose father she did not love, but held in high regard nonetheless. He was a good man, and for all his strange characteristics, Lothíriel knew that he was a kind, caring man and that he would love their child as equally as he loved her; if not more.

“I am going to be a father,” he said finally, in a bemused manner.

Lothíriel smiled, hiding the pain in her heart as he tightened his hold around her waist, pulling her closer. She knew that he would protect her until his dying breath, no matter what feeling she held for him. And for that, she was eternally grateful. He would continue to love her and for some reason she felt strangely secure, as though he were her backbone.

O, how she wished she could find it in her heart to love him.

–

“You seem distracted.”

Startled, Lothíriel looked up from the open book on the table before her. She smiled absently at her companion, “Not distracted, Elfhelm. I am merely contemplating the irony of life.”

“Ai, may lady! You harbour such heavy thoughts for the morning!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she laughed, sounding like a gentle summer rain upon the lush green grass of Rohan.

“And what, pray tell, is the irony of life?”

She shook her head, refusing to speak her true thoughts. To change the course of the conversation, Lothíriel looked at him with a small smile, “Éomer and I have news to announce during this evening’s feast.”

“News?”

“Aye, happy news—for the kingdom.”

“Can you speak to me about the nature of this news?” He asked, leafing through his own book.

Lothíriel hesitated, biting her lip. She battled with herself before finally relenting. “I am with child. You must not speak of this to anyone, before the feast,” she said softly.

Elfhelm froze. “That is… That is indeed happy news. I surprised that it is so soon after your marriage.”

The Queen of Rohan blushed at the implication, “It is, but both myself and Éomer welcome the blessing.”

“Indeed.” Elfhelm clenched his jaw, refusing to acknowledge the stabbing pain within his chest as she spoke. “Well then, let me be the first to congratulate you.”

“Thank you.”

He rose abruptly, startling her with the sudden tension set upon his shoulders. “If you will excuse me,” he grinned falsely, “I have some forgotten and urgent business to attend. Farewell, my lady.”

And before she could respond, he left the room hastily.

–

Elfhelm closed the library doors behind him and leaned heavily against the solid stone of the wall. She was pregnant. And although he was immensely happy for her and her husband, he could not help but feel a pang of jealousy at their blessed life. Of course, both Éomer and Lothíriel deserved to be happy and joyous but he wished—desperately—to share the same happiness with the woman that he loved.

There was no other like her; she was soft-spoken, yet she was hard-headed. She was beautiful, yet possessed a frightening mind that worked with the speed of lightning. She was… She was Lothíriel, a woman he had grown to care for and admire in the past month. And now, she was pregnant with his King’s child.

Deep within his heart, Elfhelm sorely wished to find a woman to love. He wished to have his own children. He was nearing forty and was ageing, yet he was still alone… Perhaps that was one of the reasons he felt such a deep affection for the Queen. She was his saving grace. She reminded him that there were women on the world that were worthy of love…

With a deep sigh, he made his way towards the stables; a ride upon his trusted stead would be in order. He needed to clear his head and think about the new life that grew within his Queen’s belly.

He winced, wondering if he would ever become accustomed to seeing her pregnant.

–