Disclaimer: I don't own anything created by Tolkien, yadda yadda. You know the routine.
A/N: I would like to thank Elizabeth Bartlett for beta-ing. Love ya, girl!
Dancing in the Moonlight
He would be furious if he knew what she was doing. He had told her many times that it was not appropriate for a young woman, but she didn't care. When she did so, she felt so free and as if she was just any other person, not the Princess of Dol Amroth. Lothíriel could shake loose the chains of her station and just be herself. But her father did not understand; all he knew was that certainly no one would approve her doing such a thing. Young women of breeding simply did not dance in such a manner.
Lothíriel paused to hear if anyone was around and peeked around the tent. Not hearing or seeing anything, she went around it. She had managed to sneak away from that night's entertainment that Imrahil had arranged for that night without anyone noticing. It had not been very hard, since there were relatively few guards posted around their camp at Cormallen, and those who were not on duty were partaking of the ale without much reservation. Since the men were either watching the entertainment or otherwise occupying themselves, it was easy to find a deserted part of the camp that was still close enough to the music so that she could still hear it.A new tune started, and she moved in time to the music, closing her eyes and letting it wash over her. She imagined that she was one of the dancers she had seen numerous times before in the south; dressed in a long, flowing skirt made of a patchwork of fabrics, a short cropped top that showed off her midriff and tight sleeves that stopped at her elbows while around her waist was a scarf of colorful beads and coins that jangled when she moved, as did the anklet of silver bells on one leg.
She would spend hours watching them perform in the streets back in Dol Amroth and had learned how to move like them just by watching. Moving in time to the music, she raised and lowered her hips; while shaking them and moving her torso all around, moving her arms about, and occasionally dipping her head back or leaning forward. She was one of the dancers who were performing for the men just a few dozen yards away. She was a mysterious and exotic dancer, not the Princess of Dol Amroth constrained by what her father thought was proper.
A noise startled her, her eyes snapping back open in horror. Someone had discovered her! Oh, she would be in so much trouble when her father found out, and he surely would, since it was most likely a guard that had come across her. But, perhaps she might be able convince him not to mention this to her father...
As she whirled around to see who had disturbed her, her eyes wide with panic, and she saw that it was not one of the Dol Amroth guards. His dirty-blond hair reflected in the low torchlight; he was one of the Rohirrim. Even with the lack of light, she could tell that he was a handsome man but did not understand what he would be doing here. Once the sun had set none except their own and invited guests were allowed into their camp. Most of all, she could tell from the way he looked at her that he was slightly inebriated; after all, she had three brothers.
He took several steps toward her and she turned to run away, but he was quick enough to catch her wrist, pulling her in close enough that she could smell the drink on his breath. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling her scent, and holding her tight to him. Lothíriel could feel her heart beating a mile a minute.
"Not so fast, sweet one," he murmured, "I believe that we might be able to reach some sort of agreement."
"Please, no! There is some sort of misunderstanding," Lothíriel pleaded, trying to extract herself from his grasp. "It is not what you think."
"Somehow I find that hard to believe. What would someone as... bewitching as you be doing out here all by herself?"
Before she could answer, he brought his mouth crashing down on hers in a rough kiss. Lothíriel could not do much more than keep her mouth firmly shut, determined to keep his tongue out of her mouth. He was obviously much stronger then her, and whatever resistance she offered was minimal. She could feel the panic in her rising quickly. It was obvious what he intended, and it did not matter whether or not she gave her consent. For once she found herself cursing her father for leaving so few guards out tonight.
But she was not without resources; once she had started to mature, her brothers thought it prudent that she learn how to defend herself from any unwanted advances, should she ever find herself in a situation similar to the one she now faced. The only drawback was that those lessons were given with the assumption that she would be able to stop things before they got this far.
The hand that was not holding her tightly against him started to roam over her body, exploring her curves. Lothíriel quickly scanned her memory of the lessons, hoping to adapt something in able for her to make an escape. She had done nothing but resist him so far; how would he react if she seemingly consented all of a sudden?
She leaned into the kiss, not opening her mouth but still giving the illusion that she acquiesced. He released his hold on her slightly, giving her the opportunity she had hoped for. She kneed him in the groin, extricating herself from him as he doubled over in pain.
"How dare you, you drunken mule! You should thank the Valar that I am not screaming for the guards right now. Go soak your head in a water barrel!" she shouted, pushing him roughly to knock him off balance before running off.
She did not pay attention where she was running to, and found herself at the edge of the river. Sitting down on the cool ground, Lothíriel drew her knees up to her chest and looked out at the dark water. He had come so close...and all because she had wanted to be normal for a change. She certainly had given the impression that she was any other woman, so much so that he had thought she was a harlot or a dancer for sale.
Lothíriel was not completely naïve; she had only been here for a few days, but knew what went on in a camp full of men, fresh from battle. They had come with the tents and other supplies from Minas Tirith, as if they were just another part of camp life. The dancers and musicians had come from all over Gondor, though the ones from the more southern regions had come on the boats up from Dol Amroth with her. Earlier when she had been watching the entertainment, she had seen them walking among the edges of the men, bending over to whisper seductively in their ear, giggling demurely, and leaning in for a kiss that promised many things - for the right price, of course.
Perhaps her father had been right; he'd had good reason for not wanting her to dance in such a manner. In fact, perhaps for this very reason - that she might be mistaken for one of them and might be taken advantage of. Maybe he really did have her best interests at heart, and was not merely being the overprotective father she usually thought of him to be; he just did not want her to get hurt.
Lothíriel wasn't sure how long she sat out there; staring out at the murky water, but heard footsteps behind her and quickly turned around to see who it was, still a little on edge. It only turned out to be Erchirion, carrying a torch; he must have come looking for her when it was noticed that she was missing.
"There you are," Erchirion said, the relief evident in his voice. "What are you doing out here? Why did you leave?"
"I just wanted to be alone," she lied.
"Somehow, I find that hard to believe. We all know how you love to watch the dancers," he replied, coming to a stop next to her, still holding the torch. "Did you come out here to dance and something happened?"
"If something happened would I be sitting out here by myself? You taught me better than that Erchirion; if something had happened you would have heard me shouting to high heaven for the guards," Lothíriel snapped, while hoping he wouldn't press further.
"But you did not deny that you were dancing. You were, were you not?"
Lothíriel nodded slowly. "Aye, I was."
This obviously was not what Erchirion had wanted to hear. "What were you thinking, Lothíriel? It is all well and fine if you choose to do that back home - even though Father has repeatedly expressed that it is not proper behavior - but here, it is not exactly safe. What if someone drunken soldier had stumbled upon you and mistaken you for a harlot?" he asked, "Who knows what could have happened then?"
"I am not the defenseless little girl that you think I am," Lothíriel argued, standing so that she was eye level with her brother. "The three of you taught me how to defend myself. Why do you not put any faith in that training?"
Erchirion just shook his head and held out a hand for her to take. "Come, Ada is anxious for your return."
Lothíriel was not surprised, of course he would avoid the question. Erchirion didn't want to admit that he worried about her safety as much as her father did. So, she took his offered hand and stood up, walking back to the circle of men and taking her seat next to her father once more, fully aware of the talking-to she would receive once the entertainment had ended.
-----
To her great surprise, her father had not reprimanded for her behavior the previous night. He must have figured that Erchirion had done enough of that already, given her countenance when they'd returned. She spent the remainder of the evening not paying much attention to all that was going on around her. Before she had retired, though, Imrahil had told her that both King Éomer and King Elessar would be joining them for lunch the next day. This would be her first time meeting the both of them, since she had only been in Cormallen for a few days.
Thus, she spent most of the morning getting things ready because it wasn't every day that you ate lunch with two kings. Mostly, it consisted of tidying up her father's tent where they would be eating since it was the largest tent in their camp. All too soon the morning came to an end and their guests arrived. Lothíriel was still inside, seeing to a few last-minute things while her father and brothers greeted them outside.
The tent flaps parted and her father stepped in, followed by two men and her brothers. One had long dark hair and a rough beard; this was most likely King Elessar, while the other had long sandy-blond hair and looking strikingly familiar. This had to be King Éomer, but she could not think of where she could have seen him before. She had not met any of the other Rohirrim and had not been in their camp. She saw a similar look in his eyes, but that he knew where they had met before.
"King Elessar, may I introduce to my daughter Lothíriel," Imrahil said, gesturing to her.
She curtsied before him, lowering her head, "It is honor to meet you, my Lord King."
"It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady," Elessar replied, taking her offered palm and kissing the back of it.
Her father then turned to Éomer and said, "Lothíriel, this is King Éomer, the nephew of Théoden and the brother of Lady Éowyn."
"Your Majesty," she responded while curtsying again.
"It is an honor, Princess," Éomer told her, kissing her hand as well. "Your father has spoken nothing but good things about you."
Upon hearing his voice Lothíriel suddenly remembered where they had met before; he was the drunkard that had interrupted her dancing last night and had tried to have her! It had been too dark that night to see him that clearly, but she would never forget that voice. It took all of her willpower to maintain her composure and not slap him in the face. Remembering where they were, she quickly broke eye contact with him, while bowing her head and murmuring, "Thank you, my lord."
Her father sensed the tension that had suddenly appeared and quickly suggested that they sit down. The meal passed without much event. While her father and brothers engaged King Elessar and Éomer in a great deal of conversation, Lothíriel remained rather quiet herself. A few times, King Elessar talked directly to her and she would talk with him enthusiastically, but Éomer said nary a word to her until they left. For her part, this gave her some degree of satisfaction, knowing that he at least regretted his actions last night. During the meal, she had looked over at her several times, and had noticed that he still seemed to have a bit of a hangover.
"Serves him right," she thought, allowing herself the smallest of smiles. Amrothos must have seen this smile, because he somehow got it in his head that she was sweet on Éomer and would not cease in teasing her about it.
A few evenings later, there was again entertainment, but no dancers this time. Imrahil had invited Éomer, who accepted. When he joined them, Amrothos whispered to her, "Ah, there is your sweetheart."
Lothíriel simply responded to the comment by stomping on his foot. "I swear, Amrothos; how many times must I tell you that I am not in love with Éomer King?" she hissed.
"Apparently you must do so at least once more. Now, do not be rude and go greet our guest," he replied, giving her a bit of a shove so that she stumbled over to Éomer.
"Good evening, You Majesty," she greeted, "It is an honor to have you join us tonight. I trust that you are well?"
"Aye, thank you," he nodded.
An awkward silence followed and Lothíriel could not help but feel slightly pleased that she could still make him feel so uncomfortable. In truth, she felt that he deserved it; after all he had made a complete fool of himself. She gazed at him while wondering how long it would take for him to actually apologize to her, and enjoying watching him squirm under her scrutiny.
"Please, have a seat," she told him, breaking the silence. "The entertainment will start shortly and my father is on his way." She walked over to where Erchirion was sitting with some of his friends and chose to sit by them.
A few hours later, Lothíriel found that she was starting to grow tired and stifled a yawn. She had spent the better part of the evening paying absolutely no attention to Éomer; talking at length with Erchirion and his friends, laughing whenever a joke was made and enjoying herself immensely. She felt Éomer's gaze on her numerous times but only looked over at him once.
Standing up, she excused herself and went over to her father to wish him a good night. "I am going to retire, Ada," she said, bending over to kiss him on the cheek. "Good night."
"Good night, 'iell," he replied.
"My lord," she said to Éomer, nodding her head as she passed him.
As she walked to her tent, Éomer called after her, "Princess, might I have word with you?"
"Of course," she replied, turning to face him. "What is it, my lord?"
He shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. "As you no doubt remember," he began, "we...er...met before we had a chance to be formally introduced."
"Yes, I do believe that I remember that particular event," she answered, keeping her expression calm and composed although she felt the exact opposite on the inside.
"It is no excuse, but I had had a significant amount of drink, and greatly regret my actions that evening. I humbly seek your forgiveness, your Highness."
She had every intention of forgiving him. But, before she did, she had a question. "First, I have a question for you, my lord. Did you seek my company because of what you thought I was, or because I was dancing the way that I was?"
"You wish for the truth?" he asked, and she nodded. "I cannot say that I was thinking very clearly at the time, so I cannot explain the reasoning behind my actions. Can you still forgive me?"
"Of course I can, your Majesty. It would not be fair to not forgive someone for what they did while under the influence of a few drinks." She paused for a moment, trying to phrase what she wanted to say correctly. "I can only say that the both of us are no doubt grateful that it stopped before things progressed any further. On that note, I wish to apologize for...the force that I used."
"No apology is necessary," Éomer assured her.
"Well then, I suppose that I should retire for the evening. Good night, my lord," Lothíriel said, curtsying.
"Wait," Éomer told her, holding up a hand. She paused, looking back up at him. "I think that we are beyond formalities at this point and I would prefer that you call me Éomer."
"Only if you will call me by my own name," she answered with a smile.
"It would be an honor, Lothíriel," he responded, inclining his head ever so slightly.
A/N: In case you couldn't tell, I had Lothiriel bellydancing. Bellydancing is actually one of the oldest forms of dance in the world, so it's highly likely that it could have existed in Middle Earth, even though Tolkien never mentioned anything about it. A lot of people think that bellydance is limited to the Middle East, but it's not. It is also very common in Asia, Africa, Turkey, and Greece. It is my opinion that such a form of dance could have been known of not only in the Harad and such, but also the more southern regions of Gondor. Please let me know what you thought of my fic!