Lothiriel returned to main section of the palace. Her pace was slow, as she remained lost in thought. She knew where she stood, always had, in fact, and held no illusions about her prospects. Until now, she never considered the alternatives. Were there alternatives? As the daughter of a prince, she was prepared to accept certainties. That did not mean she never hoped for more. For the first time, she recognized the possibilities. Were there such possibilities? She longed for the answer to be yes, but part of her did not cling to such hope.
Finding herself outside her father’s study, she paused and knocked at the door. She waited for a moment and then, deciding he was not in, moved away. Just as she’d stepped back, she heard his soft voice. Puzzled, she opened the door and peered inside. Imrahil sat at his desk with his ledgers and books. This was normal enough. However, Lothiriel knew that all was not right when she stared into her father’s troubled eyes and saw the way his clothes appeared to have been recently rearranged.
“Father?” She came into the room and shut the door firmly behind her. Leaning against it, she studied her father with far more scrutiny than she’d ever done before. Half remembered tensions and impressions came to her and her concern grew even more. “What has happened?”
Imrahil tried to keep his expression mildly neutral. “Why should anything be the matter?” He planted his hands firmly on the desk so that she could not see how they trembled.
Lothiriel came further into the room and sat, unknowingly, in the same chair that earlier contained Eomer. Tension still filled the room, as if slow to dissipate like smoke on still air. “Please, father, you have been different since your return.”
“The war,” Imrahil said distractedly. “The terrible cost, the horror of losing so many lives, so many friends.” He thought for a moment about Denethor.
“Father, I am not a child.”
“Indeed, Lothiriel, you have grown much, even in the short time I was gone. There are topics not suited to discussion with one’s daughter,” he chided her gently for her intrusion.
“Eomer.”
Imrahil blinked and tilted his head down, as if staring at his ledgers, and hoped the flush he felt creeping up his face did not show. “You presume,” he responded harshly.
“Do you think they understand? Or are the Rohirrim too steeped in their own traditions to recognize another way?”
Imrahil raised his head abruptly. Lothiriel stared past his shoulder. “I--,” he began and then stopped. “Lothiriel? Has something happened?” He first thought of Eomer and then dismissed the idea. She’d hardly said two words to the king. He thought about Eowyn and he wanted to dismiss that thought, but couldn’t.
Lothiriel brought her thoughts to the present. “I am not at all certain that Lady Eowyn is interested in a husband. I think she is far too independent to succumb to the whims of any man.”
“She would do whatever Rohan required of her,” Imrahil rejoined thoughtfully, curious to see where his daughter’s thoughts were leading.
“Once, I think she might. I cannot see a man taming her now.”
His daughter’s eyes were sad and far away and Imrahil felt a moment’s misgivings. “Lothiriel?”
She rose from her chair. “I have interrupted your work long enough.”
Before Imrahil could say more, she was out the door and for the second time that day, he found himself in an emotional quagmire.
~*~
Eomer stared across from his sister and wondered at the stranger he saw within her. True, she changed as Grima came into power and with Theodred and Théoden’s deaths. Her own battle experiences left her scarred, like any other veteran. The Witch King’s marks healed, albeit slowly. When they were children, they’d been particularly close. As time went on, however, that changed. He grew into a man with a man’s secrets and she into a woman with a woman’s secrets. When did they drift so far apart?
“I would like to see you settled and happy,” he began cautiously. “I know that Faramir’s rejection hurt you and you must be reluctant to place your hopes in Imrahil’s sons.”
“Not really,” she answered as if in a dream-like state. “I fear no rejection or acceptance of them. I have no interest in them.”
“You haven’t even met them.” He challenged with a frown drawing his brows together.
“That is true,” she acknowledged. “I have no interest in examining them as potential husbands.”
“Eowyn, there are no Eorlingas suitable to your station who are not all ready wed. You cannot mourn the loss of Aragorn or Faramir.”
“I do not mourn,” she said heatedly, at last breaking from her reverie. “Do not meddle where you are not needed.”
The old spunk returned with such force that Eomer was momentarily taken aback. Regrouping took him a moment and in the silence, she spoke.
“I have no need of a man, Eomer. I realize now that a man would place me where I most fear to go. You mourn Theodred too deeply brother and assume that my grief is equal to yours, but I loved neither Lord Aragorn nor Lord Faramir as you did Theodred. Do,” she amended. “I have examined my heart closely and find that my needs are not what you think they are.”
Feeling his breath catch, Eomer fought for composure. “What do you mean about Theodred?”
Eowyn’s features softened. “Oh, Eomer, I would not be your sister if I did not recognize your love for him. I would be a fool if I did not see how lost you were without him. I would have been blind not to see what you shared when he still lived. I want what you had.”
How had she known?” You want what I had?” Eomer tried the words on for size and searched for their meaning. “You must seek it.”
Eowyn smiled gently. “Do you?”
Eomer thought about his abuse of Imrahil’s affections. “I do not wish to discuss my situation for it is different from yours.”
“Is it?”
“Isn’t it?”
“I do not know.”
“You are cryptic today, sister,” he admonished her. “You say that you have no interest in finding a husband, but that you want what I have. How do you expect to find the love I shared…”
Eowyn met his gaze squarely. “I know where to find a heart equal to mine.”
Eomer forced his jaw closed and then his head moved in an abbreviated nod. “Are you certain?”
“Not so clearly as that. I find myself pulled in a direction that I have never considered and recognize in me a desire for something other than a husband, but not the lack of need for a mate.”
“Eowyn, I will stand beside you, whatever your choice.”
“I know, Eomer.” She got up from her chair and came forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Promise me you will not grieve forever. Promise me you will keep your heart open, not bury it in Theodred’s tomb.”
He could not count how many times that day he’d been shocked and did not try. “I promise.”
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