Smoke & Mirrors

Chapter 13

Home. Éomer slumped tiredly in the saddle. Ahead of them, the hill of Edoras was alight with torches, so his messenger must have announced the news of their coming. He had sent one of his riders on ahead when they had stopped in Alburg for a word with his Marshal. However, Elfhelm had been away, and though his wife had urged him to stay the night, Éomer had declined the offer, earning himself grins from his men at his eagerness to be home.

Knowing the end of their journey beckoned, Firefoot lifted his weary head and picked up the pace. Soon they splashed through the ford of the Snowbourne and the guards at the gate greeted them by blowing their horns. He raised a hand in acknowledgement to the people of Edoras who had come to cheer them despite the late hour, but did not stop to talk to any. Up the hill, past the stables, and then...

She stood at the foot of the stairs, holding the welcoming cup. Éomer thrust his helmet at Éothain to hold, urged Firefoot forward and swung out of the saddle.

"Be welcome," Lothíriel began the traditional greeting, "it gladdens–"

He grabbed the cup of mead from her, downed it in one gulp and then seized her in his arms and kissed her. She was all right! Even though he had seen her in the palantír, he didn't truly believe it until he could at last touch her.

She started with surprise at first, but then her arms slid round his neck. Éomer dropped the empty cup to the ground and let his hands roam all over her. How well she fitted into his arms, how sweet she tasted. She was all marvellously soft woman! He twined his fingers in her hair and caught the scent of roses.

Finally they separated. He cupped her face in his hands. "You smell wonderful," he said the first thing that came into his mind, only to become aware of his own less than pristine condition. He reeked of sweat and horse from the long ride, his hair needed a wash and his clothing had definitely seen better days. A brief rain shower that afternoon had only added the smell of wet wool to complement the other rather pungent aromas surrounding him.

Laughter sprang into her eyes as she must have realised the same thing. "Welcome home, Éomer. Would you rather have your meal first or your bath?"

His bed? With her in it? He sighed. "You're the best of wives. A bath first, I think."

Éomer dismissed his riders, then slipped his arm around Lothíriel's waist as they went up the stairs. The doors of Meduseld opened in welcome and he drank in the familiar sights. It was good to be home! In their quarters, Lothíriel drew him towards his own bedroom and the small bathroom beyond it.

"The water is still hot," she said, "the servants just need to bring it in here."

He realised that it had probably been heated for her evening bath. "I'm not using your water, am I?" he asked.

"You are, but I think you need it more." Her voice shook just slightly.

He grinned ruefully. How right she was! A couple of servants carrying buckets of water were just finishing filling the big wooden tub that took up most of the space in the small bathroom.

Lothíriel would have left then, but he grabbed her hand. "Stay with me?" He found he wanted to keep his wife close after not seeing her for such a long time.

She hesitated.

"To keep me company," he added, "and tell me the news of Edoras?"

"If you wish."

Éomer beamed at her, calling forth a shy answering smile. Hesitantly she touched the length of green silk still tied around his upper arm. "You're wearing my scarf."