I do not own the Lord of the Rings of course, and none of those characters are my creation - except perhaps the messenger from Rohan and the occasional soldier, but that is beside the point. I am pretty sure that this is not the way Tolkien would have intended Eomer and Lothiriel to meet, but then you can never know, and I did try to remain true to what I love in his storytelling.
Wishing you a good reading! And please forgive the possible mistakes, or even point them out to me if you have time to spare: English is not my mother tongue and this was originally written in French.
Many a day had passed since the downfall of Sauron. Prince Imrahil, after coming back briefly at home, had once more left the reins of his princedom to his daughter Lothiriel, in order to attend King Elessar's coronation. But at last, when all was settled, when Elessar was crowned and King Theoden buried, he decided to come back home. Leaving his fiefdom had not been easy, and he wished more than anything to take back from his daughter the heavy responsibilities he had been forced to lay upon her. He had rather never have had to do so – she was hardly an adult, and the burden was heavy for such frail shoulders. But Lothiriel, like so many ladies of her line, was as brave as a warrior and knew where her duty lay; she had obeyed her father without hesitation.
King Eomer of Rohan, who had come back from the burial of his uncle with Aragorn to further discuss treaties and agreements, took the prince up on his offer to visit his lands, curious as he was to have a glimpse of the sea, but also out of respect for Imrahil, who was a friend as much as an ally.
They had planned on travelling by the river, as was the habit between Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth, but there were not enough ships left intact by the war to spare – especially as they were needed for trading and harvesting food for winter. It was then decided that the whole company would travel on horseback – for which Eomer was in fact quite thankful, for much as he was curious of the sea, he had still dreaded a journey on water. Yet, even though he had not uttered a word of his fears, by the second day of travel, Elphir – the one closest to Eomer out of the three sons of Imrahil – had guessed it, and did not cease teasing him.
"I don't understand; aren't the meadows of Rohan likened to a green sea? You should be perfectly at ease in a blue meadow!"
"Elphir, I'm afraid the relationship between Rohan and Dol Amroth will utterly collapse if you keep on with this kind of remarks..." Eomer would growl, fakingly threatening.
"And why so?" Imrahil would cut in, his innocent, enquiring stance nearly credible.
"Because your son might find himself terribly maimed by a regrettable incident!"
"Lord Eomer, if horses are involved you will never be cleared of suspicion!" Amrothros would add very seriously.
"That's exactly why I was talking about a deterioration in our relationhsips!"
To which all would then laugh heartily, under the stunned eyes of some of the noblemen who had decided to accompany them and were not quite used to their banter yet.
The whole journey was marked by such carefree, light atmosphere. The days were beautiful still, abundance and happiness were visible in all the villages they travelled through, as if the whole world was putting on colors that had been hidden during Sauron's reign. Everywhere, they only met with acclamations and rejoicing – the Rohirrim were particularly praised and thanked for their salutary intervention, but the princes of Dol Amroth were also honoured.
Finally, prince Imrahil's lands came in sight. He sent a messenger ahead to warn his daughter of their coming, even though he was sure she knew already that they were approaching: news flew fast from village to village, and their company must be the main subject of all conversations far ahead already. Then he joined his sons and Eomer, interrupting quite a heated argument.
"Father! Help me explain to Eomer that fair ladies are far more beautiful than dark ones!"
"Son, I do believe it might be quite difficult to argue on this subject. Are you tired of the fair ladies of your country, Eomer?"
"It might be! And queen Arwen – "
"But that's unfair, the queen is no ordinary woman!"
"Please, Amrothros. If Lothiriel could hear you, she would take offence."
"Oh no she wouldn't. She would be delighted and would say that, at least, men with taste may find her attractive."
"Amrothros, you're quite exaggerating. Anyway, you would have deserved it!"
Eomer turned to Elphir enquiringly.
"I take it your sister dark-haired then?"
"She has the darkest hair possible, except perhaps for queen Arwen. But beware my lord, here are before your very eyes her three appointed protectors, not to mention father!"
Eomer raised his hands in a gesture of innocence, laughing.
"Fine, then I promise not to admire your sister!"
"Oh well, she will want my head if she learns of that!"
As for Imrahil, he was shaking his head, amused by the clownings of the youths – and pondering in the back of his mind the fact that, from what he knew of her character, his daughter might actually be attracted by Eomer – in which case her brothers would really have to face trouble.
They travelled fast enough. Little attention was paid to their surroundings since their path was not to cross any village, in order to reach Dol Amroth faster. Nevertheless, a few people, among which the king of Rohan, were worried by several signs: too many fields were still waste land, or too few had been reaped, there was not enough traffic, a few clouds strangely ressembling smoke afar... But he decided not to worry Imrahil, so happy to be back in his lands, for so little. Anyway, there were only a few hours' travel left.
Finally, the castle of Dol Amroth came into view.
It stood facing the sea on a meadow sloping gently downwards to the beach, a huge ornate building with red tiles upon its roofs. The tall and slender towers soared upwards towards the sky in a skilfully orchestrated myriad that glinted under the sunlight. A paved road went up to the grand gate of the town that surrounded the castle, fortified on all sides. Amrothros turned to Eomer, smiling broadly when he saw the awe written on the new king's countenance.
"You have to admit that our home has nothing to envy to Meduseld!"
"I admit it willingly. I can understand now why my grandmother was said to be so wistful of her country! But Minas Tirith was hailed - let Dol Amroth be also!"
So saying, he raised his horn and blew it clear and strong, followed by all his armed guard; it was as though hundreds of horses were galloping towards the walls of the town in a tremendous clamouring.
"Sons, forward! Imrahil then said. And blow our horns, let all know that Rohan didn't come alone!"
Then it was like the awe-inspiring song of the raging sea, which can utterly destroy a ship, but which may also spare those that were shipwrecked.
Thus, the company entered the town, whose doors stood ajar. But they soon grew uneasy. The town, wich they had thought would be bustling with life and celebrating their return in rejoicing and feasting, was silent and empty. Prince Imrahil hastened his horse to the castle, his brow furrowed, his sons as worried as him, following close behind. Eomer, seeing that the town had not been looted but seemed to have been suddenly deserted, started to fear a misunderstanding. Had they been afraid of the horns of Rohan, never before heard in these lands? But surely, the horn of their prince should have reassured the inhabitants. And the messenger should have warned them – or had he gotten lost along the way? Anyway, the town was too large for all to have fled to the castle without the company noticing it. But what then?
Suddenly, a bend of the road brought them in front of the castle gates, a few hundred yards away. They were closed, and the palace showed all signs of a heavy military activity. The prince broke into a galop, followed by his guards – among which were his sons –, all instinctively organized in a fighting unit. His guest and his own guards followed his lead, and finally the standard-holders, bearing high their ensigns.
Then, great clamouring was heard and the colossal doors were opened slowly, making way for a dozen of horsed soldiers, led by a captain wearing the Dol Amroth colours. He was smaller and thinner than the others, undoubtedly younger, but he went straight to the prince and dismounted a few yards away from him, even before his horse had come to a full halt.
"Father!"
And, before everyone's stunned eyes, he took off his helmet, revealing not the face of a man, but that of princess Lothiriel.
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
Finding lodgings for everyone was quite a business, but in the end a room or a suite was found for everyone, and all was prepared for dinner – announced to be fruga by a very sombre butler. Imrahil, his sons and king Eomer then joined Lothiriel in her father's study, where she had a light meal served. She had not had the time to change into a dress and stood by the window in an armor which seemed to have been made to measure. It had obviously been used more than once, as the scratches and dents not entirely smoothed over showed well. Her face, even though beautiful, was cold, concentrated and withdrawn; but behind this facade Eomer could see the fatigue and despair of a captain who had lost too many men – the same expression he had worn himself for so long.
"King Eomer, I'm sorry for our poor welcoming. We had only heard a few rumours about the arrival of a large company, all seeming quite far-fetched, and we dared not trust the sound of a horn to open our doors."
"My lady, no harm is taken. But what draws you to take up position behind these walls ?"
She looked deeply into Eomer's eyes, seeming suddenly tired and frightened, as if she didn't know what to say.
"Daughter", Imrahil asked with a voice which had lost its firmness, "what is going on?"
She sighed, shut her eyes and turned back to the window, her arms crossed upon her breasts in a feminine stance which looked out of place on her armour.
"They started arriving even before you left, but nobody paid them any mind at the time. Things got worse afterwards. At first it wasn't too serious: thieves, a few rapes, fires... But then they just seemed to multiply and organized into groups. Orcs and Easterlings, and some Southrons too. They loot and slaughter everywhere. I failed to organise the resistance soon enough to break them up, and the roads were soon cut off. These weeks, they have ventured closer and closer to the town. Yesterday we had to summon the inhabitants in the castle in emergency, all the castle is full to the brim. I don't even have news from the other strongholds any more."
"Why not send word to us?"
She whirled suddenly, her eyes glowering, her cheeks red with anger and frustration.
"I sent word! But when I saw that no answer came, I stopped sacrificing my men for nothing!"
A heavy silence fell at her words, only ended by Amrothros.
"Our messenger must have met the same fate as yours. They didn't dare attack our company, but I guess it's lucky we didn't sleep out in the open."
Lothiriel went up to her father and Elphir, tears in her eyes, and fell on her knees with a metallic crash.
"Forgive me, I failed to accomplish my duty. You shoudn't have trusted me, you should have killed them all when you could! Why didn't you?"
She was greatly agitated, and passed from despair to blind anger. All blanched with shame and sadness that such a heavy burden should be imposed upon so yong a woman, barely an adult.
In the end, Eomer was the first to regain his composure, recognizing in her unfair and wounding accusations the mere result of despair, rather than true anger. He went up to her and, his gestures calm and slow, knelt down in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders.
"My lady... Princess Lothiriel... You've been brave and you've fought well. The looters took advantage of your surprise; but now we are all together, with at least two contingents of royal guards, not to mention your own soldiers. As soon as tomorrow, they will get the fate they deserve, I give you my word. The Rohirrim will be proud to fight alongside the Shieldmaiden of Dol Amroth."
It seemed to get her out of her stupor and she dried her tears. Then Eomer helped her get back up, only then becoming aware that the frail young lady wore an armour hardly less heavy than his.
Her father and brother slowly got closer, nearly hesitating, and he moved aside to let them embrace her. After a few minutes of hugging and whispered words, Imrahil realized the tiredness emanating from his daughter.
"Let's all get some sleep. We won't make any decision like this. Tomorrow, we will make up a plan. Lothiriel, I will need your help once again, describing the situation in detail, but I promise that then, you can leave your armour, daughter."
There were tears in his voice, and Lothiriel made as if to move towards him, but she stopped short, silent and brooding still. Amrothros took his sister by the arm and led her to the door.
"Come now, little sister. It is high time you got some rest, you look about to fall."
They walked silently along the corridor, leaving the study behind them and trusting the others to find their own chambers on their own. Amrothros was looking at his sister worriedly out of the corner of his eye. She still looked as if she was withholding tears, she had an exhausted look to her and rings under her eyes.
"Lothi, you are no more alone now. Accept our help, please. We will do all that is needed to finish off those breeds of Morgoth as soon as possible, I promise you."
"Thank you, Amrothros. I am really thankful to you all."
Hearing her weak, toneless words, he stopped, frowning, and took hold of her shoulders.
"Lothi, you should only be thankful to yourself. Your own strength brought you here – nothing else."
"Amrothros – I failed! So many men died! It went from bad to worse, I was never able to take the right decision at the right time – "
"Stop! Believe me, that's what we are always thinking. Have courage, rather think about those that you were able to save. There's nothing left to do for the dead. Even if I had been there instead of you, nothing would have been different."
"How can you be so sure?"
"I know it. Lothi, you are the bravest woman that I know of, and you had enough of a hand in running our lands to know as much as I do. Stop thinking about it and go to sleep, little sister."
"I will not be able to. I should go and relieve the guard on duty."
He sighed and embraced her. At first, she remained quite stiff, but then he felt her back loosen up, and finally she began to weep softly. They stayed like this for a long time, and each of her tears seemed to be ripping his heart further apart. She was his little sister, whom he had sworn to protect; he had always been his devoted knight in their child games.
She stopped crying after a time. Slowly, he helped her straighten up and led her to her chambers' door.
"Sleep, little sister. We are here now. We will take care of everything, rest assured."
She smiled shakily, and finally pushed open her door. She was greeted by her old maid who bowed before the young man with a thankful smile, as if she had heard everything. That Mirian always heard everything, anyway: Amrothros trusted her blindly to take care of his sister and convince her to sleep.
"See you tomorrow, Lothi."
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
On the morrow, Eomer woke up with the sun, as he was used to, and went up to admire the sea from the watch posts of the castle. He was deep in tought, when he saw Lothiriel coming towards him, deep in conversation with a few of her captains. He could not help watching her. She looked serious, grave even, and listened more than she talked. When she did talk, her sentences were brief and precise, imbued with authority but not imperious, and always of the greatest courtesy. It was strange to see her thus: in spite of her warrior array and her inscrutable – nearly sour – face, her bearing, gestures and intonation denoted a delicacy which gave away her womanliness and her status as a noblewoman of Gondor.
He looked away. Despite it being a practice not unheard of in the House of Eorl, he hated seeing a woman fight: they were symbols of life, abundance and love. Their features seemed to stand suffering less well than those of a man. He had always hated seeing his sister wielding a sword. He wished that he had been able to better protect her: she was not one of those wild women who took pleasure in the killing. And obviously, Lothiriel was not, either.
The conversation was drawing to an end; the captains went away and she walked up to him. She did not give him her hand or curtsey; she simply came and leant on the crenellation of the wall walk beside him. He turned towards her and bowed slightly before starting to talk.
"Did you sleep well?"
"Better than I did before you came. Did you? I hope you found your chambers to your taste."
"I did, they are magnificent, worthy of the rest of the palace. But there was some kind of rumbling noise which troubled my sleep."
"A rumbling... Oh yes, of course! That would simply be the backwash, the sound of the tide. Do you like the sea?"
"It is strange... Beautiful, for sure, but so impressive. I had never seen any expanse of water larger then a lake. Sailors must be as brave as warriors to dare venture there."
She smiled and looked upon the immensity of the sea which was sparkling slightly in the light of dawn.
"Usually, people see its beauty rather than the danger lying in it. I used to see nearly only its beauty myself."
They stayed silent for a while, deep in their thoughts. She looked melancholy, but it did not make him think any less of her beauty, and even gave him the strange impulse to take her in his arms and comfort her.
"And yet – "
He cut off, hesitating: his words werre often clumsy and he had been misunderstood many times. But he bravely went on, spurred by her sadness.
"And yet, the beauty of the sea is still there. One day, it will overtake its danger in your eyes, I'm sure."
Lothiriel offered him a thankfuk smile, but it was unconvinced. It stirred him to carry on in the same manner. He did not want to see this young woman, hardly entered into life, despair so. Besides, if he succeded in showing her the beauty of the world and giving her hope again, then maybe he would be able to see some of this beauty, too.
"My lady – the fighting only lasts for a time. We have lived through dark years, but evil always falls in the end. Morgoth has fallen, Saruman has fallen, Sauron has fallen. Those looters will fall quickly, especially with the fresh troops we have brought with us."
Lothiriel smiled again, and it seemed to Eomer that this smile was shining with all the beauty of sun rays.
"Lord Eomer. I have not thanked you yet for the help the Rohirrim are offering us."
She looked deep into his eyes, and he understood that she was talking as much about his words as about his men. Her tone was solemn and yet devoid of its previous despair when she continued
"I thank you."
"The horn of Rohan sounded for Minas Tirith when it was needed; it will sound for you when you need it."
"If only there was no need !"
Silence fell again on them, quiet and calming. The waves were coming and going on the sand down below, and behind them they could hear the sounds of daily life in the castle, increased by the number of refugees. Eomer let his eyes wander on the landscape so as not to stare as the young woman beside him; Lothiriel was basking in the reassuring presence of this man with whom she felt she was on an equal footing, despite his natural authority and his status. Then, Eomer's words jolted her back to the present.
"Why does that expanse of sand over there have a different colour?"
"Those are shifting sands. Be careful, never go on the beach on your own: down there, you will not see them, and you would be sucked in without a chance of survival. Very few people, even here, know how to walk about those sands without danger."
"And you, my lady, do you know how to?"
"Yes. I learned to, when I still had time and few duties."
Eomer frowned. She had growned wistful again taking her mind off her worries proved difficult. The war seemed to have left too much of a mark on her for her to think about anything else.
"Would you help me out, if I were to get lost in them?"
She turned towards him, surprised, and smiled openly – the same radiant smile as before.
"Of course. After all, we are allies now, are we not?"
"Yes. It is an honour. Shall we also be friends?"
Lothiriel watched him for a moment, as if to judge him; he flashed her his most innocent smile and held out his hand to her. She started to laugh then, and took the proferred hand.
"Is it always so difficult to resist you?"
He laughed too, then bowed respectfully and brushed his lips over her hand softly. Looking up, he saw her blush and he smiled, despite the strange feelings that her emotion awoke within him.
"I hope you will never have any reason to resist me."
She blushed anew, stammered a "I hope so too" which embarassed her even more, then curtseyed quite clumsily and walked away.
Being thus treated had had the effect of a whip lash on her: it had been days since the idea that she was a noblewoman, said to be beautiful, had crossed her mind. For how long had she not worn a dress? Being in armour all day long, fighting or trying to organize her troops, was not the best thing to make her feel she was attractive. All of a sudden, she was itching to wear a dress once more – not to seduce Lord Eomer, certainly not...
Lothiriel rushed down the stairs two at a time, nearly giggling, before the sight of an umpteenth scout come back wounded sobered her up. The sweet eyes of a man did nothing to stop war, alas.
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
The Lords of the castle were all together in Lothiriel's study when dinner was served. Her study was spacious and comfortable, meticulously decorated and furnished with all the taste women could muster; but in there, maps, plans and and a few weapons had replaced the account books and the letters. The mix was a rather unusual one; but still, even in those military papers the delicate handwriting of Lothiriel and her precise organisation could be seen and admired by all. Despite how worried her father and brothers had been after seeing her in such an awful state the day before, she had the situation quite under control. The ennemy's positions were overall known, or at least guessed at, and the only uncertain point was the survival of villagers living near the other strongholds – even though their having gone and found refuge in the castles was a near certain fact.
Everyone was tired. They had spent most of the day reviewing the situation and drafting battle plans; they also had had to reorganise all the troops to include the soldiers come with them from Minas Tirith. Lothiriel's explanations, as detailed as possible, were drawing to an end; she had never done such a thing and, tiredness playing its part, she was having trouble with it. Luckily, the old maid came to fetch her mistress and literaly ordered the men to go and dress for dinner – which all did, smiling, refreshed by her intervention.
Half an hour later, all felt indeed more attentive and better tempered. The men all met to discuss strategy, and the other guests all joined them, most shaking their heads at Imrahil's apologies of having invited them at such an untimely moment. They were interrupted by the ladies' arrival, which gave back to the hall the usual lighter mood, all wartime speeches banished for the time being. Then, Lothiriel came in.
Her entrance was noticed. Following the impulse awakened by her conversation with Eomer, and to avoid looking as if she was not respecting her guests, she had dressed in a magnificent blue and silver dress, adorned with a few traditional jewels of her line.
It was a disaster. The rich colour of the velvet and silk only served to emphasize how drawn and pale she looked, with rings under her eyes that she hadn't had time to conceal under powder. Her hair-style, an ornate chignon, couldn't hold in the shorter lock of hair cut off by an ennemy blade, despite all the work of her maid; and the shorter sleeves of her dress didn't cover the fresh scar slashing her arm with violent red.
It was once again a severe blow for her family, as they had only suspected or glimpsed all of this under her armour. As she felt all eyes upon her in the sudden and heavy silence, the lady who didn't fear the eyes of her crudest soldiers anymore started to redden and had to bite her lips to stop the tears from overflowing her eyes.
But one look and one smile from Amrothros helped her fight back the tears; she felt one of her chidhood friends come next to her and press her arm gently, once the shock had subsided, and she lifted proudly her head. Then, Eomer came and bowed before her, and he kissed the hand she held out to him, and a smile graced her lips once more.
"My lady."
She took his arm, smiling at his air of complicity, and they followed Imrahil to the table. Lothiriel was far from the usual model of feminine beauty: the weight of her armour, the fighting and exhaustion had made her thinner and grown some muscle on her frame, so that her arm against Eomer's was hard rather than soft. And yet, he could only be charmed by her body against his, by her still delicate hand on his arm. Before he let her sit, he pressed her hand and smiled to her; she smiled back and nodded in thanks with sparkling eyes.
Dinner went very well. All conversations were joyously animated; and when they went back to the darker events of the last few days, as couldn't be prevented, every guest had an idea, some of which turned out to be very good indeed. Still, Lothiriel was relieved when dinner drew to an end and she was quick to go back to her study, where she finished her account to her father.
"Daughter", he said when he came in, "you should go and rest. We will finish this tomorrow."
They all saw her become pale at these words, as if she had been hit by some blow.
"Thank you", she answered coldly, "but I am not tired. It is far more important that we find a solution to our problems."
"Please, you are exhausted. We can wait one more night."
Lothiriel opened wide eyes.
"Wait? Wait! Looters roam over our lands, keep us from living, kill those we have sworn to protect! How can you! Haven't you let them down long enough?"
"Lothiriel, please. You know very well that I suffer as much as you do. Those are my oaths, my people, my lands. Please, calm down."
"How dare you!"
Her voice had turned into a low hiss, like melting metal coming into contact with water; her eyes did have the destructing glow of it.
"Where were you when Sauron's troops fled freely? Where were you when they started looting and killing? Where were you when they were raping women and slaughtering everyone, old and young? Where were you when our messengers and their news didn't reach you anymore? All of you, what have you been doing those last months, while Dol Amroth was sheding blood and tears? Celebrating a victory for which we have paid! You abandonned us, and let loose on us the demons you were tired of fighting!"
She stopped suddenly, out of breath, her breast heaving. Her father, in a state of shock, stared at her with tears brimming in his eyes, hardly contained, as still as if he had been struck by some curse. Her brothers were in no better state: Amrothros, despite his usual bravery and pride, had let his tears run down his cheeks. Even Eomer could feel the cruel, bitter bite of shame. How could all this have happened, when Sauron had been destroyed?
Then, anger overwhelmed him, a fury quite like that which had taken hold of him when he had thought his sister dead on the fields of the Pelennor, and all lost; and he brought his fist down on the table with a crash that surprised everyone.
"She is right, we must act! Let us track them and kill them, down to the last of them. We have all killed enough of those creatures to know how to do it; let us hunt them down like the pest they are!"
Elphir was the first to regain his composure, and he laid a reassuring, understanding hand on his father's shoulder.
"He is right. Lothiriel – we still need your help tonight. Please."
His sister, who seemed to have shed all her anger, sighed.
"Of course. Come see the map."
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
Midnight had long struck when they finally left the study, all tired but full of a new hope. Lothiriel was slowly walking to her room when Eomer caught up with her.
"You were wise tonight, my lady."
"Was I? I rather think I behaved like a stupid child. My father did not deserve all I accused him with. You did not, either."
"We understand, all of us. And it is true we were not cautious enough. I am sorry."
"I should say I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me – "
She stopped and leaned against the wall, under Eomer's anxious gaze; she looked like she could crumble from exhaustion at any time.
"How do you do it? How can you bear the battles, the failures, all those dead? I can't do it anymore."
He watched her with pity, then scolded himself: she was a princess, from a line stretching back far longer in time than his, who had been able to step away from all her education and from the ways of her country to defend her people. He didn't pity the shield maidens of his land; he wouldn't pity her.
"Everyone hates it, apart from those in whom lies the spirit of Morgoth. We only find the strength because it is our duty; because we are those who must defend our people."
He came closer and removed a lock of hair from her face; he was surprised at the wamrth of her skin, when it looked so pale and cold. Her wide black eyes seemed to be searching him for answers, for some comfort he was afraid he could not offer her – when she deserved it so much!
"You have fulfilled your duty. Do not only think about the lives that were lost; also think about those that could have been, but that you saved. There is hope still."
She shut her eyes and heaved a long sigh, letting her head rest against his hand, still on her cheek. As if answering a silent prayer, Eomer then took her gently in his arms. Lothiriel let him, simply enjoying his warmth.
"You are not alone now. Your family is back; we are all here to help your people."
The Rohirrim hesitated for a second, before he found the confidence and courage to continue deep within himself.
"For as long as you wish, I shall be here for you."
At his words, she suddenly went very still; then she relaxed, and he thought he could feel the shadow of a smile against his shoulder.
"Thank you. You have come at the right time. I was starting to lose hope, and so were my men. Your arrival relieved us as much as fresh troops did. I am not a master at war; I have neither the charisma, nor the talent of my father and brothers."
"Your men would have followed you to the end."
She looked thankfully at him, then stepped away from his embrace.
"Good night, Eomer."
"Good night to you. Rest. Your father is right; you need it."
Lothiriel smiled and stopped on the treshold, as though hesitating to step into the room. Her hesitation was probably what decided Eomer to utter his next words:
"Lothiriel – would you allow me to court you?"
He saw her eyes widen with surprise, then her smile do the same with joy, and his heart was filled with happiness; he couldn't help his lips from stretching into a smile, too.
"Of course! I would be – delighted.", she ended more demurely, but still her eyes sparkled with sudden life.
They stayed a while longer gazing at each other, lost in some far away world, their hearts beating with this new feeling. At last Lothiriel entered her room with a sweet "good night", and Eomer continued to his own chambers.
He had acted on an impulse, without thinking, as was his wont; and yet he did not regret it. On the contrary, the more he thought about it, the more he was able to find arguments in favour of his choice. She would make a good queen for Rohan: issued from a noble line, from an allied country, very capable of both ruling and fighting (even though he never wanted to see her fight again: she had suffered too much from it). He did not know her very well, but he already loved all that he had glimpsed of her: she was firm and resolute, even obstinate, but also charming, and each of her actions was suffused with an inner nobleness and presence of mind.
But the main argument in favour of his decision was of another kind entirely; it lay in her delighted smile, in the joy brightening her eyes, erasing for one moment all trace of exhaustion and despair. He had always thought that the complicated, rigid rules of wooing in Gondor were a little excessive and ridiculous; but he would gladly submit himself to them, if it allowed Lothiriel to be once more in a familiar world and to forget about war.
Yes, he had made an excellent choice; all that remained to be done was to convince Imrahil that it was so.
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
The day was warm, sunny, and peacefully calm. The castle of Dol Amroth had been nearly silent for some days, and seemed asleep after the intense bustle of the last few weeks. Lothiriel stood admiring the sea on a wall walk, enjoying the brush of the delicate fabric of her dress against her skin. Soon, Eomer would be back.
He had gone, along with his father and brothers, to fight the looters; it had been one week already. Messengers came regularly to keep her informed, more often than not sent by Eomer; their victory was completely overwhelming. All the men seemed to be, like their chieftains, eager to make up for the time they had lost, and in one week the looters had been nearly crushed. The last of them had banded together, forming a bigger group; but her father was confident that they might be defeated in two days, at most. It was almost too good to be true.
Two patrolling guards passed her by, saluting her respectfully. It was the custom that a lady of her rank ought to be bowed to; but to see that they still saluted her as they would their captain was a solace to her, and she smiled warmly back.
"What news, gentlemen ?"
"Nothing from the army yet, my lady; but many inhabitants of the city have been going back down since morning. They say there is no need to stay behind the ramparts anymore."
Lothiriel frowned and started towards the other side of the castle wall walks, on the side of the city, followed by the two soldiers.
"Why would they do this? There is still a group of looters roaming around, perhaps more!"
"They have been told, my lady. But there have been so many victories as of late, and it is said that the Rohirrim are protected by elf magic, that they can only be defeated by the terrible mûmakils."
"What nonsense! How many have been going back?"
"More than a half of them already."
They arrived at the main guard tower overlooking the city. Indeed, here and there signs of a renewing activity could be seen, and carts were streaming out of the door without interruption. Lothiriel nearly swore under her breath before regaining her composure and turning to the captain of the garrison, who had just joined them.
"Captain. Organise your men so as to be ready to defend the city at the first sign of danger."
He looked at her with a frown, obviously anxious.
"I have reorganised the garrison already, but it would be impossible to defend the city, my lady. We are too few and the town is too vulnerable. Have you any reason to be worried?"
"Nothing but a feeling. But after all that we have gone through, I would expect that kind of elementary caution from them!"
"It is true. But they are tired, and afraid of possible epidemics. It would cause quite an uproar to take them back inside now."
"Fine. But stay on your guard."
"Yes, my lady."
Lothiriel went to sit on one of her favourite benches nearby, from which she could see both the city and the changing colours of the quicksands in the distance. She blamed herself for not seeing this coming, yet she had to admit she had no reason to be afraid over than a gut feeling, but still. At noon, she sent back the young maid who had come to invite her to have luncheon; she was too anxious to eat.
That was when she saw it.
Something started to move in the distance, well to the right of the quicksands; like a shadow creeping slowly forward, getting clearer and clearer. It seemed her heart fell down the ramparts when a watchman cried out, confirming to her that this was indeed the group of looters that she had feared. No standard, no colours: it had to be. And it was larger than the messengers had let on.
A man was suddenly at her side, out of breath, two worried soldiers and her captain at his heels; from his clothes, she deemed him a Rohirrim.
"My lady. Eomer King sends me. The army has been delayed by an ambush, and this group has pulled ahead of them. I do not think they can get here in time: the Rohirrim are coming as fast as possible, but the warriors are slower than me. You have to shut the city."
Lothiriel paled and thought for a moment that she might fall down. Indeed it had been to good to be true. There was no way the inhabitants could regain the fortress in time now; by the time the army arrived, it would be a slaughter, notwithstanding all the dead to defend the castle and win back the city. She could already see them behind her closed eyes, all the dead, all those she would not be able to save.
"The city cannot be shut.", she whispered slowly.
And then, amid her despair, she could almost hear the reassuring voice of Eomer in her head, and she shut her eyes again, concentrating with all her might. There had to be a solution –
There was one.
"Captain, have as many people come back inside as possible. Let all now that they must make haste, but avoid a riot at all costs. If the looters reach the city entrance, shut the fortress off. Whatever happens, do not defend the city."
While saying this, she was already running towards the stables, followed by the messenger and her captain; on a sign from him, the two soldiers had gone already.
"I am going to go out on horseback; let no one follow me."
"My lady, what will you do? It is too dangerous !"
"I am going to lure them into the quicksands !"
She stopped long enough to let a stableboy saddle her horse faster than she could, searching the place for the standard of Dol Amroth. When she found it, she affixed it herself on her saddle, while the soldiers followed her with anxious looks.
"Between this standard and my dress, they will know who I am. They will want to capture me, they know that my father is hot on their heels."
"This is madness!"
"Do you have any other idea? I am one of the only ones able to go in these sands! They will sink and it will slow them down – if it doesn't kill them."
They all remained speechless, and she climbed on her horse. Her dress was wide enough not to hamper her, but it was very uncomfortable – it would be even more so when she set off at a full galop. The Rohirrim suddenly went to his own horse and mounted too.
"I am coming with you."
"No you're not !"
"My lady, I can stir my horse into putting his hoofs in the tracks of yours without the marks growing any larger. You are not even armed; Eomer will have my head if I let you go like this."
It was true : she had left her sword in her room, along with her armour. She had not thought she would need it on such a fine day. As though emerging from sleep, her captain unbuckled his own sword and she took it without a word, sending him a thankful look. The weapon was too big and too heavy for her, but at least she would not be defenseless.
The Rohirrim came closer and held out his hand.
"Trust me. Let me carry your colours."
She hesitated a bit more, then took her standard and gave it to him, and he affixed them to his saddle.
"We ride!"
They launched at a canter first, negotiating quickly the bends of the drawbridge and of the city streets, where the crowd would soon be stirred back by soldiers. Lothiriel tried not to think that she was, perhaps, seeing the shops and the streets for the last time; only saving her people was important. As soon as they had gotten out of town, they broke out into a full gallop. Then, all thoughts of the danger ahead left her: she let the wind and the speed brush them off and concentrated her mind on the task at hand. She would have to negotiate the quicksands at full speed so as not to be caught up with or alarm the ennemy. It was more dangerous and difficult than anything she had ever done in there. But it would probably be worth it: those orcs, those evil beasts had devastated her lands, had caused her people suffering, threatened those she loved – they deserved far worse than what they would get.
The bunch of them was getting clearer and clearer, she could nearly make out their faces. Fortunately, they were not organised in any way: if they rushed after her, there would be many dead before they understood what was happening. She pushed forward still, trying to gauge the reach of their bows: neither her companion nor she were equipped to withstand arrows. When she could hear them whistling through the air near her ears, she turned sharply, the Rohirrim right behind her: he had obviously not lied about his capacity on a horse. Suddenly, he threw up his arm and the standard of Dol Amroth flapped in the wind, like a torch in darkness. Then, with his other hand, he raised his horn to his lips. A blow like that of a storm in the mountains sounded from it, terrible and angry, seeming to defy death itself. The cries of the orcs were subdued by it.
And, to the surprise of all, the same sound was heard again, nearly like an echo, but far too real and magnified. Then, straining her eyes, Lothiriel could make out, behind the heterogeneous troop, the movements of the armies of Rohan and Dol Amroth, still blurred in the distance. She nearly did not feel relief at that vision, too concentrated now on what she could not avoid doing. She only thought with savage pleasure that this apparition suited her perfectly: the orcs would certainly not hesitate to follow her now.
She turned towards the quicksands, and, not hesitating once, pushed her steed anew.
Straight on, a bit to the left, then to the right; she had to look for the slight nuance in colour which marked a steadier path, more secure, and hope that her trusted horse would not bolt from the strange sucking sensation that it could still feel at times. Behind her, she could hear the Rohirrim, but was not worried for him any more. A few arrows whistled around them in the air, then ceased at the same time as the first cries of surprise and fear were heard. She remained concentrated on the path, never turning back, trusting what she could hear to understand what was happening. The cries were increasing, and no arrows flew past her now. In the distance, the horns of Rohan and Dol Amroth sounded again, uniting their beauty and anger to form a strangely melodious symphony. The army must have sighted her standard; she only hoped her father would understand and prevent them from following her head on!
Finally, her horse was once more treading firm ground, and she could turn around. The Rohan rider was beside her, his face hard, still concentrated. Before them, the quicksands stretched out, swarming with revolting creatures half buried already. The orcs were trying to free themselves, but that only quickened the process. Their violent cries were tearing up the peaceful day; they could probably be heard from the castle, perhaps from farther away still.
Suddenly, something caught her eye: a part of the group had avoided the quicksands, skirting around them; they were mainly Southrons and Easterlings, and had probably recognized the trap. They were only one quarter of the initial troop, but still far too numerous for the two of them. And to think the army was still so far away, would also lose some precious time skirting the sands – They would never reach the two of them in time.
Then, she threw a decided glance at the Rohirrim beside her and drew her sword, lifting it high despite its weight. She heard her companion do the same, then the horn of Rohan rang once more, like tempest and battlefield chaos, the rumbling of hoofs charging forward – their ennemies did not falter.
"For Dol Amroth!" She cried out, surprised at the sound of her own voice ringing loud and clear.
Then, they were surrounded.
There were no arrows, only flashes of swords on every side. It was like the tide sweeping on the beach: uncontrollable. She succeeded in deflecting the first attacks quite easily, put at an advantage by her higher position on her horse. But the Rohirrim was forced away from her side, and her sword started to become harder to wield, weighing her down despite the excitation of the battle. She felt like she was back in one of those nightmares where she was stuck among ennemies, and she could not seem to strike them. But still she fought and parried, finding energy she had not know was hidden in herself.
Then, there came the first wound – the cold, cruel iron of a blade biting her thigh. She cried out and beheaded her attacker in a single blow, but the wound was deeper than she would have liked, and she would soon be weakened. Would she die thus ? It was getting harder and harder to control her horse, surrounded and probably wounded as the poor beast was . All was becoming blurred, the leering faces seeming grotesquely unreal. Soon, she would go down...
That was when the whole world seemed suddenly to groan and shudder, and she saw wild panic in the eyes of the looters. She raised her head for one instant, despite the danger, and understood : the Rohirrim had come !
They were charging with all the mighty fury she had been told of, that of the Pelennor Fields, in a sild clamouring of shouts, hoofs and horns. Leading them was a warrior dressed in a gleaming armour, the plume cresting his helmet nearly luminous unde the sun. He was galloping faster still than his men, what was visible of his face contorted with rage : Eomer had come.
From that moment, victory nearly seemed easy, as though the Gods themselves had been on their side. Lothiriel only had to deal a few more blows the swarm of ennemies was fleeing their death as fast as they could, but not nearly fast enough. Then it was over, and she was left alone on her heaving, trembling horse, not in a better state herself, while the Rohirrim flew past her to round up and finish off the looters, only a few of them remaining in a protective circle round her and the messenger. The cries of those who had drowned in the sands had died out; on her thigh, the cut of a blade was bleeding, soaking the delicate fabric of her dress; but her city had been saved.
She sheathed the captain's sword after wiping it on her spoiled dress, tears of joy and relief flooding her eyes. When Eomer rode up to her, his bloody sword still in hand, she thought she might laugh and cry at the same time, so great was her relief.
Once her wound was bandaged, they started towards the fortress. On the way, Eomer told her all she did not know yet. They had known from the horn of Rohan that someone was standing against the band they were pursuing and, when they had drawn closer, they had been able to make out her colours and her dress, and had thus understood who she was. Only a cry from Imrahil had prevented them from rushing headlong into the trap she had laid – but her father despaired that they might go roung the sands in time to catch up with the remaining looters. Then, a Rohirrim had given his mount to a Dol Amroth rider who had guided them round the quicksands. Only the great speed of the Rohan horses had enabled them to be in time – they had left the rest of the army far behind them. In fact, they had reached the Southrons nearly at the moment when they had rounded up on Lothiriel and her Rohirrim guard.
Eomer said no more after that but Lothiriel could well see in his eyes, and in the hardness of his still rigid face, how afraid he had been for her, and for a moment she nearly felt she could understand his trepidation, the anguish hardly contained lest all be lost to despair, as he had madly spurred his horse on. She herself was not realizing yet the full extent of what she had just been through, but she knew that she would soon bear the brunt of it, and that fear and shock would find her during the night.
Soon, her father and brothers reached them, only accompanied in their frenzied gallop by a few soldiers. Apprehension was written all over their faces, and they rushed to her side so fast that it was a good thing no one stood in their way.
"Lothiriel ! Are you wounded ?"
"I am fine, I can go to the castle quite easily."
Her father clumsily leaned down and reached for her hand, a flow of emotions shattering his usual composure.
"Forgive me, daughter – I failed you once more."
She smiled then, all traces of her prior bitterness and anger vanished.
"No, father. You were there for me, just in time, as you have always been."
"I cannot be forgiven – "
This time Eomer answered, instinctively knowing that nothing she could say would soothe his pain.
"Imrahil, you did not let your daughter down. You gave her the strength she needed to fight her own battles. Be proud of the line of Dol Amroth."
Imrahil looked at his daughter then, waiting for her to speak. Lothiriel nodded slowly.
"Let us go home, father."
He smiled then, and pressed her hand before letting her go, the better to go towards the castle.
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
Two weeks later, a magnificent feast was held in the castle and town of Dol Amroth. King Eomer had agreed to delay his return to his country – mostly so that he could watch over Lothiriel during her recovery. A frugal but elegant dinner had been arranged, and food given out in all the towns and villages : tonight, all of Dol Amroth would celebrate their victory. Noblemen and officers, as well as a few soldiers personnally invited by the princess, had come to the castle.
Lothiriel herself was nervous. It was true, she had regained feminine curves and her cheeks glowed once more, but her dresses still looked utterly out of place on her, as if her armour had left a permanent mark. Her wound was not yet fully healed and she still limped slightly, so that she would not be able to dance – she would probably be prey all night to the gossip and bland conversation of the usual wallflower old maids.
She sighed and settled on her window seat with a faint rustle of velvet of silk. Now she was being unfair and malicious, simply because she could not bear to be thrown back into the court world – her own world. She was afraid. Deep down, she knew that she did not belong any more in this careless world of splendour and feasts. She had already celebrated the victory with her men doing so again with people who had not suffered to achieve it seemed so much more difficult !
And yet, she was unfair once again. After all, the men who would attend the feast had all fought, whether in Gondor or in Dol Amroth and their wives had fought too in thei own way, keeping their homes and lands safe, welcoming and sheltering those who needed it in their castles. No, decidedly, her own battles could hardly be considered exceptional – far from it.
So, Lothiriel got up and smoothed her dress. She had departed from the tradition and chosen a deep green fabric – the colours of the Rohirrim, without whom she would not have survived, and without whom so many more would have died. It had not been easy to find this particular colour in her wardrobe, and the dress was old, outdated for some time already – but it mattered little. She had been delightfully surprised to find out that the blue of her family jewels suited this colour perfectly.
She allowed herself one last look in the mirror, and got out of her room with a smile on her face.
Today, Eomer was still here.
The great hall was still quite empty when she entered it. Only her father and brothers were there already, seeing to the last details before welcoming the guests in. When they saw here, they seemed to be checking their emotions with some difficulty. Amrothros was the first to regain his countenance – he had always been, after all, closest to her.
"So it's true, then ? You're leaving us for those barbarians from the North ?"
"Amrothros !"
He bowed hastily and raised his hands in a gesture of peace in front of her frown, laughing all the while.
"I am jesting, little sister. The only thing I could reproach Eomer for is that his country is too far away from our own. Aside from that, I believe you could not have found a worthier man."
"Thank you, Amrothros."
Elphir and Erchirion drew closer then, and all three embraced her in turn.
"We will miss you, you know."
"You shall make me cry ! I am not leaving immediately. Besides, when you're married, I do believe you will not miss me in the least."
They drew back, laughing once more, and now her father was there.
"The colours of Rohan suit you, daughter."
"I wear it in honour of all those who saved us, not just of one."
"Of course. Still, your choice is made."
"Yes, father. Do you accept it ?"
He sighed and kissed her brow.
"Lothiriel, even if I did not approve, I would not allow myself to question your choice. You are a woman, an adult – you suffered enough to become one. It is no more my place to guide you."
Then, Lothiriel could not hold back her tears and let them roll freely down her cheeks. The same tears were on her father's cheeks when she threw herself in his arms.
"Thank you, papa..."
They had a bit more time to talk, and she could regain her composure before Eomer entered the hall, followed by his usual Rohirric guard. He was dressed in the traditional royal garb of Rohan, made of rich fabrics but with a simple, practical cut to it. The artfully wrought crown of Rohan rested on his brow. Thus dressed, striding confidently forward with his head held high, he had both the majesty of a king and the noble bearing of a warrior. And yet, his bright smile and the keenness with which he refused Lothiriel's curtsey belied his imposing appearance.
"I beg you, my lady – we shall soon be betrothed, and I do not wish to see you bowing your head before me."
She smiled and he smiled back, this warm smile that she had come to associate with him. Then he embraced her brothers – for they were, after all, his own brothers-in-arms. He hesitated then, and was relieved when Imrahil himself took the initiative to embrace him.
"I hope you have not changed your mind about the beauty of dark women ?"
"No. I have found the one who no one will ever equal in my eyes."
His eyes on her, associated with his words, heated up Lothiriel's cheeks in a blush the likes of which she had not felt in years.
Soon enough, the other guests started to come in. Lothiriel was surprised to see that the colours of Rohan were in nearly all dresses tonight : all seemed to have wanted to pay tribute to those who had saved them so many times. More daunting to her was the admiration everyone showed her, through pointed looks or endless thanks.
When wine glasses had been handed out to everyone, Imrahil, his children and Eomer gathered in front of the table. The prince raised his glass, and his deep voice was heard throughout the silent hall :
"Let us raise our glass to our victory against Mordor ! Let no one forget the feats of the Halflings, who saved us all from being enslaved by Sauron. Let all remember also the riders of Rohan, who saved us twice from our own mistakes. Hail !"
Then Eomer raised his glass also and, with his eyes on Lothiriel, answered :
"All hail princess Lothiriel, Dol Amroth's shieldmaiden !"
All raised their glass in a great roar, and drank. Then, slowly, the conversations resumed and the musicians started playing happy, light tunes so that the room was soon divided between dancing and feasting.
Lothiriel remained lost in thought for a time, still moved by all the tributes she had been paid she did not engage in conversations, and refused politely any invitation to dance. Only Eomer could finally reach her. She jerked her head when she suddenly felt him next to her – he looked very grave.
"Are you enjoying the evening, my lord ?"
"Quite; but you do not seem to."
She lowered her eyes, suddenly very conscious of what a bad hostess she had been.
"It is true. Forgive me I always find it difficult to keep all those who died from my mind. So many are missing tonight ! I feel like we are disrespecting them by celebrating so."
He nodded gravely. She was relieved by his reaction; she had been afraid he would not understand. But of course he would : no doubt he had had to face that kind of feeling far more often than her.
"In my country, when we celebrate a victory, we celebrate the dead also, for both are as one. We remember that they were not sacrificed in vain, and we thank them for it. When we die, we do not want those who remain behind to mourn our loss, but rather to pay tribute to our life."
Lothiriel nodded slowly, taking his words in.
"Yes – It does seem very wise."
"Believe me, it is the only way not to be destroyed by regret. Come now, have a share of the feast, and explain to me what those strange dishes are. If not, I shall be afraid to try them, and I would hate to scorn your hospitality."
With a laugh and a lighter spirit, she followed him to the table.
Her time and occasional slow dances were shared between Eomer, her family and those captains she knew best – though it had to be said Eomer as shown a marked preference. Halfway through the evening, Imrahil had the guests assembled once more and gestured for Lothiriel and Eomer to come closer. Then he took Lothiriel's hand in his own and uttered the old, traditional words – words she had not expected.
"Tonight, this woman ceases to be my daughter. Lothiriel of Dol Amroth, I relinquish all authority upon you : let your actions be good and guided by what you learnt from me. Choose now the house to which your heart leans; but never forget the one you come from."
His father's eyes were brimming with tears when he let go of her hand. So, tearful also, she slowly, nearly hesitantly made her way to Eomer. Following the tradition, she bowed deeply before him. He bowed to her then, in so doing breaking with tradition. It was true that this was not the tradition of his people, but she suspected he knew it well enough, and had deliberately set out to honour her. Then he held out his hand to her, and when she took it it was his turn to utter the time-honoured words :
"Lothiriel of Dol Amroth, my house and my heart are honoured by your choice. I swear now to learn to know you and love you; I swear to be aware of your true worth, and never to treat you shamefully."
Then the crowd broke into applause, and Eomer embraced Lothiriel impetuously : he had been wishing to take her in his arms for so long ! She relished the embrace, the warmth and the intoxicating scent of his body and when they stepped back, she found that the joyful smile of the man she was now betrothed to was even more intoxicating.
Her family, even though they had known for some time already, was soon there to congratulate them, and the guests also flocked towards them. Many women were moved to tears some of the oldest among her acquaintance winked at her advised her to come see them later. The men congratulated Eomer with respect and admiration evident in their voice, sometimes tinged with some envy. Lothiriel blushed and smiled when her captains and soldiers came to cheer them with a profusion of cries and advice.
At last, the banquet drew to an end, after many dances had been danced and many dishes emptied. Eomer and Lothiriel slipped away in the garden under the softened gaze of Imrahil. He knew that once she would be gone to Rohan, the occasions to see her would be only too few, they would both of them be burdened by too many responsabilities – but that did not prevent him from rejoicing with her.
Once in the garden, the couple sat on a bench overlooking the sea. The silent night was only stirred by the lapping waves and the small noises of night creatures after all the music and the noise of the banquet, it was truly soothing.
"The sea is beautidul tonight, but still quite impressive."
"Yes", Lothiriel said in a dreamy voice. "She reminds us of how little we are; but she also reminds us that over there, the Valar watch over the world."
They remained deep in thought for some time before Eomer took her in his arms.
"Leave with me tomorrow."
"Eomer – I cannot. I need to say goodbye to my family, to my people. But we will be together again, after the harvest, before wintertime. Before that, we can write to each other."
"Very well. But remember : one word from you, and I shall come for you straight away, along with all my eoreds if need be !"
Her light laugh rang in the garden, and it was one of the sweetest sound Eomer had ever been given to hear. He tightened slightly his embrace.
"I hope I will be a good queen for Rohan."
"I have no doubt about that. I hope you will like Rohan."
"So do I. I am looking forward to meeting you there."
At last they got up and Eomer walked Lothiriel to her chamber. He stopped her before she could go in.
"Lothiriel – I was not sure, but I have to tell you. Women, in my land – high-ranking women especially – well, if I need to leave, you will be expected to defend our lands and lead the battles while I'm gone. I hope it will never happen, but I cannot promise it won't. If you do not want to risk this through our marriage, I shall understand."
"Eomer – "
She stopped and carressed his cheek softly, a smile on her lips.
"I hate fighting. But I shall not leave my people unprotected, in Rohan as in Dol Amroth. I wish to be your wife. If it must include some suffering, then so be it : our happiness will be worth it, will it not ?"
He took her in his arms once more without a word, and she embraced him with equel passion. Then, with a last trusting smile, she went into her chamber and let him go to his own.
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
The Rohirrims were leaving. King Eomer had to go back to his lands. But a date had already been settled upon for Lothiriel's journey to him, after the harvest. The eored that had escorted the king to the sea was assembled in the courtyard, and it was a magnificent show of the Rohan colours, mixed with the Dol Amroth blue in celebration of their king's betrothal.
Eomer and Imrahil were discussing a few last details about the upcoming marriage. Lothiriel was simply waiting in the courtyard, confident that she would have time to organize everything later. It was then that a Rohirrim went up to her and bowed – he was the messenger who had faced the looters by her side, and with whom she had spent some time talking during the preceding days.
"My lady."
She smiled warmly to him.
"Hamling. I hope your journey will go well."
"Thank you, my lady."
"I feel I have not thanked you properly for all that you have done. Are you really sure there is nothing I can do for you ?"
"Indeed there is, my lady. If you could allow me to remain by your side – I would be honoured."
"So be it then. If your king allows it, you will stay by my side to represent my future country. You can teach me all I need to know about Rohan."
That was when Eomer and Imrahil arrived next to her. The Rohan king smiled at what was unfolding in front of him, and drew closer.
"So, Hamling. Are you leaving my eored then ?"
"If you will allow it, Eomer King."
"I do not allow it, I order it ! You shall watch over your future queen for me."
"I will, Eomer King."
Then, Eomer turned to Lothiriel and slowly, hesitatingly stepped towards her. The time of farewell had come in the end, and it was more difficult than neither of them had imagined. Lothiriel stepped forward and took his hand.
"Good journey to you. I shall write."
"Thank you. So shall I. I will be waiting for you in four months' time."
"I will not make you wait a moment longer."
She unfastened the Dol Amroth pendant that was always hanging roung her neck and clasped it behind his. In return, he took off the royal brooch from his cloak and fastened it on her dress. Then, without a word, he took her in his arms, and they remained thus embraced for a long time.
And then it was time. Eomer tore himself away from her and was about to mount his horse when she flew to him and, with a passion akin to despair, kissed him. He embraced her with a strength that would have crushed her, had he not been so gentle and careful not to hurt her, and he thought that he would never be able to let her go. But he did, and he mounted after one last glance. He made his farewell to Imrahil and his sons, to her one last time, and then ordered his riders forward. Lothiriel followed his plume as long as her eyes could make it out, and then when she could not she gazed at the eored until it disappeared in the distance.
Then, she went back to her chamber, and remained lost in melancholy thought for a long time, absent-mindedly carressing the brooch that would remain always with her until her wedding. At last, she tore herself from her sadness and rang for Hamling. All would be well now : evil had fallen. Their days could only be happy – and it was Eomer more than the Halflings who had brought this happiness to her. She smiled and went to a window overlooking the inland : soon, she would be in Edoras. It had been a long time since she had been that confident about the future.
I hope you had a good time! Reviews are more than welcome.