Smoke & Mirrors

Chapter 15

In Lothíriel's room, the next obstacle awaited him. When they entered, Dordes rose from a chair where she had been doing some mending.

"You're back early, Child," she said. "Is something the matter?" Then she spotted him in the doorway. "Oh, my Lord King! Forgive me, I didn't see you at first." She sank into a curtsy.

It was their habit for Dordes to assist Lothíriel in undressing and then give a discreet knock on Éomer's door before leaving. Another of his half-witted ideas, like the separate bedrooms! He really must have been slightly demented when he suggested their living arrangements. As if he wasn't perfectly able – and willing! – to undress his wife himself. However, Lothíriel clutched her maid's arm and he could not find it within him to throw the old woman out. "I'll see you in a moment," he said and retreated to his own bedroom.

There Éomer shed his heavily embroidered overcoat and took off his boots, then he began to pace to and fro. Surely he was right to insist on talking things out? But Lothíriel had looked almost frightened. Had he been too abrupt? In a short time came the expected knock on the door and after waiting a moment longer to let Dordes retire, he rejoined his wife.

She sat on her bed, her wealth of raven hair cascading down her back, large eyes regarding him apprehensively. A nightgown of creamy lace frothed around her, distracting him momentarily. While he knew little of female apparel, surely he would have noticed such a beguiling garment, had she worn it before. "That's new, isn't it?" he asked.

"Yes." She held out an arm to show him the delicate pattern of swirling flowers and leaves, affording him a tantalising glimpse of her lithe body beneath it. "I ordered it from Dol Amroth while you were away. Do you like it?"

"Eh..." He fought down the impulse to tumble her between the sheets that very moment. "Yes, it's very... pretty." He took a step back to compose himself. While it was flattering that she should seek his opinion on what she wore, that was not what he had wanted to talk to her about. He cleared his throat. "Lothíriel, I said just now that I needed to speak to you..."

"Yes?" Somehow the way she sat there, looking up at him warily, reminded him of their wedding night. Hadn't she learnt to trust him at all? He was aware that he loomed over her, but had no confidence in his self-control if he joined her on the bed.

"I wanted to talk about the two of us," he continued resolutely, "where we stand."

Lothíriel clutched her hands in her lap. "Yes?"

Éomer regarded her in some consternation. What was the matter with her? She seemed as anxious as a child being scolded for some mischief. He gentled his voice even more. "We made a bargain on our wedding night and you've really done yourself proud. Only just now I was thinking how well you run Meduseld, so please don't doubt that I'm very grateful for your efforts. However..."

She swallowed, as if bracing herself for a blow. "However?"

Éomer sighed. "It's not enough. There is something missing in our marriage. Surely you know that."

She bit her lip. "Of course I do." Then she looked up pleadingly. "But we've been married less than a year! It's still early days..."

Less than a year, yet he could no longer imagine life without her. "Do you mean you need more time?" he asked, feeling his way.

"I..I..don't know!" she stammered. "You must realise I cannot give you certainty."

So she did not love him. While he could not blame her for being so honest with him, his heart still felt like a lump of lead in his chest. "Lothíriel, I'm not sure I can go on like this," he burst out.