356. Éomer
Éomer, unaccustomed to sharing his bed with another, found himself lying awake in the dark early hours of the morning. Lothíriel had drifted off to sleep long before, nestled in the crook of his arm. Tired as he was, Éomer was content to gaze at her, sleeping so soundly, and marvel at how she had wound up next to him.
He still could not fathom that she was truly there. For many years he had believed that he would never take a wife. He thought he would die on the battlefield long before he had the occasion to do so. From the time he came of age, Rohan had been beset by strife and peril at its borders. It had been crumbling from within as Grima Wormtongue's influence over Théoden grew at Saruman's hand. Apart from one true sweetheart when he was little more than a lad, women had only served Éomer as comfort in times of need, dalliances that aided his spirits and distracted from the worst realities of war. There had not seemed much point in planning for a time of peace that seemed impossible. He had certainly never expected to become king - that had been Théodred's burden to bear, one his cousin had not always borne with total grace. All Éomer had known for so long was violence, struggle, duty, and fear… of those four, only duty remained.
It had been duty, not desire for love that had led Éomer to take Lothíriel for his wife. Still, from the minute he had laid eyes on her months before in Gondor, he had found himself harboring tender feelings towards her, feelings that had continued to twinge and deepen once they were wed. Unaccustomed to joy, and love, and hope, and even to the envisioning of a future, he had not known how to handle those deepening feelings, especially when she stood beside him as his wife, with her foreign ways and noble bearing, so proper and contained. He admitted to himself now that he had found her highly intimidating, he who was so seldom brought to his knees by any creature.
How different was that Lothíriel from the Lothíriel who slept now in his bed. He supposed now that the former was partly an act put on for the benefit of others, one cultivated through many years of practice. How lucky was he to get to witness the unpracticed side, the other version of her that perhaps she shared only behind closed doors or only revealed to others after learning to trust them. In that, he supposed she was a bit like himself.
She had astonished him when she stood up naked in the bath and commanded him to stay, and at first he had feared she did so out of duty. But when she had made it plain that she wanted him to stay because she desired him, he had been relieved, and more than a little had been told that a noblewoman in an arranged match would have been taught to tolerate him in her bed out of duty, and that she would likely be frightened of him on their wedding night. He understood that fear was possible, but the former idea had confused him. From what he knew from women, those other women who had shared his bed in the past, was that they enjoyed it as much as he did, and so why should a Gondorian princess be any different?
He grinned to himself. Well, she was different, he thought. She was his wife, and how well they seemed to be matched when it came to sex. He was not naïve enough to think that all was perfectly well. There was still so much to learn about her, and so much farther to go before they had built a strong marriage. But what was important was that now they had finally begun. Somehow it seemed that making love had opened windows for each of them to peer into who the other was, and to trust in that person, and to celebrate what they had found. Indeed, he thought, it was as if Lothíriel had blossomed before him, and he before her.
What a mess Éomer might have made of things, had Lothíriel allowed him to go without touching her for weeks, or months, or however long it might have been before they became intimate.
He could not quite explain why, even to himself, but he had been so cautious not to offend her, not to scare her, not to ruin something that had yet to begin, that he had closed himself off from her. As he had finally revealed to her, he had never been one to open his heart freely, but with her he had found it difficult to even reveal a tiny piece of it. A coward, perhaps, or simply overwhelmed.
Now, however… now he felt his heart opening readily.
He shifted in the bed and tucked his body around hers, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her close. He breathed in the scent of her and felt his body release, drawn in to the warmth of her and the peace that lay therein.
"Éomer? Are you alright?" murmured Lothíriel, stirring.
He made a sound of affirmation. "More than alright," he whispered in her ear. "Go back to sleep, love."
She sighed and snuggled against him more firmly, "As you command," she responded with a sleepy smile present in her voice, and Éomer smiled too. All would be well.
[A/N: A brief chapter, but I wanted to wrap this story up with Éomer's reflections. I don't plan on continuing to explore this version of E & L, and it was only ever supposed to be about this early stage of their marriage. I'm overwhelmed, however, by the love and support you all have shown. This is one of my favorite things I've ever written. ~ GB ]
