I've had this story in mind for a while now and I took my time to write this 1st chapter. I'm planning to do a 3 parts story, with long chapters, but I will take my time writing it.
I took some liberty with the timeline. In the books, Éomer returned to Minas Tirith in July, after Aragorn and Arwen's wedding, so it seems he was not present during the celebrations. On the other hand, lord Imrahil really did go to Edoras for king Théoden's burial (so why not the rest of his family). And we don't know much about what Lothíriel was doing, but I decided she came to Minas Tirith right after the end of the war and spent much of her time helping in the Houses of Healing.
Anyhow, I hope you'll enjoy the fic!
Credits to J.R.R. Tolkien, of course.
Horses and Seagulls
Chapter 1 – Minas Tirith
T.A. 3019, July
Part 1 - The old woman, the maiden and the donkey
Somewhere north of Minas Tirith, an old woman, a maiden and a donkey were slowly making their way towards a stream that ran from the mountains to the Anduin. The eldest, short and crouched, was mostly complaining about her painful articulations, although she also stopped from time to time to pluck a flower or some leaves, while the youngest, tall and lithe, was tying her long black hair into an intricated bun, for it was a warm day and she feared she'd soon start sweating abundantly – the donkey was following them dutifully, glad as he was to be out of his paddock.
"Would you rather not spend your days with the other young girls? Poor old Ioreth and her donkey might not be a company suited for a fine lady like you."
Lothíriel pouted, scratching the donkey between the ears. "You are well versed in the herb-lore, Ioreth, I have learned quite a great deal from you over the last few weeks. As for the other girls, these days they can only think about the King's upcoming wedding and especially about the lords who will attend this event. I'm afraid discussing with them is awfully boring."
"Is it not how it is supposed to be?" retorted Ioreth. "At your age, one dreams of beautiful dresses and handsome suitors."
"A terrible war has just ended, some men have yet to be properly buried, some wounds have yet to heal, and it seems the land itself will need years to recover…" said Lothíriel, surveying the area with great interest, trying to identify each plant and tree she saw. "Surely, they have not already forgotten all these horrors we have been through?"
"Young people are carefree, they forget their woes fast and they look forward entertaining," the old woman told her and then she grumbled. "Ah, my back is aching… See! Do enjoy your youth while you still can, Lothíriel, for soon enough you will be like me, grey and crumpled, and every one of your bones will be hurting!"
Lothíriel chuckled softly – she had understood long ago that Ioreth's incessant rants were to be taken lightly. "Oh, but I too am looking forward this wedding. However, it is not the dances that I care about, but the guests that will come, as many of the Elves of Imladris and Lorien will be attending the celebrations."
Ioreth shook her head, shooting Lothíriel a disapproving look. "Elves... I say, keep an eye open for the young lords instead of chasing vain dreams. It shall be a good occasion for you to find a husband."
"I am too young to be wedded and I daresay my father hopes to keep me by his sides for a couple more years at least," replied Lothíriel, shrugging carelessly.
"Well if you won't see them, they shall see you well enough," said Ioreth and she added, in a conspiracy tone, "Pray, do not tell the others, but you are far prettier than any of the maidens of Minas Tirith, and, unlike them, you do care about helping poor Ioreth heal all those injured soldiers."
To be honest, Lothíriel thought so too, nonetheless she was touched by the old lady's words and she even blushed a little. "Thank you, dear Ioreth."
They had reached the stream and Prancer, the donkey, immediately ducked his head down to gulp long sips of fresh water. Once he felt he was refreshed, he then proceeded to graze the tender grass on the bank, while Ioreth and Lothíriel were in search of herbs they needed for the Houses of Healings.
Some time in the afternoon, Lothíriel and Ioreth had sat by the stream to enjoy a small luncheon and rest under the shade of the trees. The plants they had gathered so far had been put in bags that would eventually been carried back to Minas Tirith on Prancer – for the moment, the donkey was nibbling on lilies, unaware he would be put to contribution at some point. They were about to walk further to the west, where the water sprang from the mountainside, when they saw a dozen riders heading their way, on the road from Anórien. Their horses were strong and fiery, galloping through the plain effortlessly, and it was easy enough to guess where they were coming from.
"It seems these are Rohirrim, perhaps they are coming for the King's wedding," said Lothíriel, rising on her feet.
"Are they?" Ioreth inquired, squinting her eyes.
"Most certainly, even if they were not carrying their banners, their golden hair gives them away," replied the maiden, who possessed a keen eyesight, like all the people of her house. "Oh, is not their leader King Éomer himself?"
"What?" exclaimed Ioreth, suddenly worried. "My Lady, quick, put my cloak on, it would not be proper for them to see you dressed like this, like a peasant! And there is mud on your dress, and your hands! Ah, what should we do... what should we do..."
Lothíriel stared down at the cloak she had been handed, bewildered – only Ioreth would have brought such a piece of clothing on a summer fieldtrip. And what did it matter if she wore a plain grey dress? What did it matter it there were stains on it? They were out to collect herbs for the Houses of Healings, there was no one she needed to impress doing so.
"I mind not being seen like this, Ioreth, and if it worries you so much, tell them I am your orphan niece. Thus, my father's honor shall be safeguarded."
"Nonsense, Lothíriel, you look too… you… What if they recognize you later...?"
"They won't, the hood of your cloak should conceal my face, partly at least, and I can put some mud on my cheeks too if you wish. And mess my hair," said Lothíriel, giggling.
Sometimes it was too easy to taunt the old woman.
"No, it is alright. Look at the ground and do not to say a word, unless they address you first."
Ioreth was fussing over the young girl, adjusting her clothes while muttering under her breath – something about the carelessness of the youth.
"Yes, auntie."
A few minutes later, the riders had reached the stream and King Éomer, for it was him indeed, got down his horse first, approaching the ladies on foot. Upon meeting his clear blue eyes, Ioreth gasped and, struggling to gather her dresses, she bowed deeply, her forehead almost brushing the grass - it was quite an accomplishment for a lady so old and always complaining about back pain. Beside her, Lothíriel was less demonstrative and curtsied discreetly, avoiding the gazes of the Rohirrim.
"King Éomer!" said Ioreth, in an exalted voice. "What an honour, truly! But, Your Highness, I am extremely confused to be caught in such a position, while I am humbly fulfilling my duties as a healer. I am sure you will understand that I must go out in the fields to seek the plants required to cure the wounded and, even though I have seen my fair share of springs, I still need to do it myself..."
Éomer was surprised by the length of the old lady's speech, but he kept smiling politely, doing his best not to laugh or to grin too hard.
"It was not my intention to startle you, Ioreth, please forgive me. Yet, as it happens, our horses would gladly refresh themselves awhile and I thought I would take some time to greet you as well, for I have not forgotten you have taken great care of my sister when she needed it most," said the King of Rohan while his men were leading their horses to the stream.
"Your Highness is too kind, really." And Ioreth bowed once more, but not as lowly as the first time. "Our King is the one who ought to be thanked for your sister's miraculous recovery, for indeed it was he who thought of using Kingsfoil and it was his hands who did most of the work... After all it is said that the King possesses healing powers far surpassing those of mere commoners like me."
"I account myself as being in your debt nonetheless, Ioreth."
"You are too kind, your Highness," repeated the old woman. "If I had known Kingsfoil could be used with such great results, I –"
"I see you are not alone," Éomer cut in, as he peered at Lothíriel.
"This is my niece, your Highness, a good girl who spares some of her time to help me gather the herbs I need," said Ioreth, sputtering a little.
Lothíriel was highly amused and she also thought this situation was a bit ridiculous. However, it was entertaining to play along the old lady's act and thus, she bowed for a second time, like the modest maiden she was supposed to be.
"Is that so? Then good greetings to you..." His voice trailed.
"Fíriel, my name is Fíriel, Your Highness," Lothíriel promptly told him, before Ioreth could utter a word. "And this is Prancer," she added, gesturing at the donkey who was peering curiously at the Rohirrim's horses.
"Prancer?" repeated Ioreth, scowling at the maiden.
But Éomer was laughing merrily and, nodding at his horse, he said, "And that is my steed, Firefoot."
There was a silence, during which Éomer was trying to see more of Lothíriel's face, under her intriguing hood, but it was soon broken by Ioreth.
"Well, Your Highness, it is time for us to go back to Minas Tirith," announced Ioreth. "I have many duties to tend to, for there are still many wounded men and these days my joints hurt day and night…"
"Oh, of course," said Éomer. "I shall come visit you in the Houses of Healings, Ioreth."
"It would be an honor to welcome you there, Your Highness."
Ioreth would have bowed yet another time, but her poor back could not take it anymore, and she pulled Lothíriel's sleeve. The young girl complied to this silent order and she curtsied gracefully, slightly disappointed that her performance as Ioreth's niece was cut short. They quickly tied their bags on Prancer's back and, after Ioreth had thanked on last time His Highness for his king regard they headed back to the city. Once she and Lothíriel were well out of earshot of the Rohirrim, Ioreth let out a sigh.
"You have introduced a donkey to the king of Rohan… He must believe I have some dim-witted for a niece."
"What does it matter? I am not your niece," replied Lothíriel, chuckling.
"Your father must never know about this scheme of ours."
"My lips are sealed," promised the young girl, although she was sure her father would have found it all very amusing.
During the following days, king Éomer was oft seen lurking discreetly around the Houses of Healing. One could have thought he meant to visit some soldiers all the while avoiding Ioreth, whose arthritis was worse than ever and had become the source of an endless flow of complaints. Yet Éomer was a kind soul and he would have probably listened to the old woman's drivel for as long as it'd take for her to feel properly acknowledged. The real reason he wished not to be noticed had nothing to do with Ioreth, for he hoped to see her niece, this young girl to whom he deemed he had not been properly acquainted, but she seemed to have disappeared. Little did he know that Lothíriel was actively hiding from him, as Ioreth had begged her to do so, in the foolish hope that the King of Rohan would never understand that the old woman had no niece and that it was in fact the daughter of Prince Imrahil of Belfalas he had met by the stream.
Part 2 – Elves and Hobbits
Ioreth did not attend the big feast that was held after the wedding of king Aragorn and lady Arwen – her old bones were too weary for that, she had said –, otherwise she would have been appalled to discover that Éomer and Lothíriel were seated at the same table, because lord Imrahil had become good friend with the king of the Rohirrim. They barely exchanged a few words, before food was served, but it had been enough for Éomer to recognize her, despite the hood she had been wearing the other day, and he wondered why she had pretended to be Ioreth's niece back then. However, he did not ponder long over this, for he had become too enthralled by Lothíriel's beauty to bother with this mystery he deemed unimportant.
Even though the celebrations were in full swings, Éomer paid no attention to the music and the delicacies served to him. He was very busy staring – ogling perhaps would have been a more appropriate term – at Lothíriel. He remembered having told master Gimli that he deemed lady Arwen more beautiful even than lady Galadriel, that he chose dusk over morning, but he had never thought he would meet a mortal woman who would embody this ideal. Yet there she was, with her long black hair, her fair skin and her winkling eyes of an indiscernible color, somewhere between blue and grey, like the sea on a stormy day.
Lothíriel did not notice the young king of Rohan was looking her way, for she was herself quite absorbed in her admiration of the Elves who had come from Lorien and Imladris. She was lost in thoughts far different from those of Éomer, wondering what the grand lords and ladies of the Elven kingdoms could think of Gondor, of men and of their short lives. She was also reflecting about her own ancestors, for it was said that one of them had wedded an Elven lady, and until recently she had believed it was nothing more than a legend forged by some of her forefathers to enhance their notoriety. However, she had been surprised to learn that the Elven companion of King Aragorn, Legolas Greenleaf, had proclaimed, upon seeing her father, that he visibly had Elvish blood running through his veins.
Lothíriel took no pride in this, she was mostly just curious, like she was curious as to how lady Arwen and king Aragorn had met and fallen in love. Her father had already warned her not to be too nosy about these matters, but she thought it would be rather innocent to speak with the Elven guests, even if they were all very intimidating. And so, while she was gauging whether or not it would be proper to sit down a while with those ladies from Lorien, Éomer decided it was time he asked her to dance with him.
"I wish you good luck, my dear friend, for these days she only dances with the Halflings."
Quite amused, one of Lothíriel's brother, Erchirion, was smiling mischievously at Éomer. He had noticed – who would have not – the king of Rohan had taken great interest in his sister. Although it would be quite entertaining to see him try to court her, Erchirion had opted to warn him beforehand.
"Why so?" inquired Éomer, chucking down his buck of ale in an attempt to hide his agitation.
"Who knows, she must have some strange reason of her own... She did befriend one of them, in the Houses of Healing, yet I also believe she relishes the idea of rejecting any young man who comes near her."
"Ah…" was all Éomer could say as he beckoned a servant to bring him more ale.
"I suppose that if the free people of Middle-earth have managed to vanquish Sauron, there might me a slight chance you will be able to coax Lothíriel into dancing with you by the end of the night."
"I shall try, I find I can be very persistent at times." He was a bit crestfallen, but he loved a good challenge.
Erchirion's smile widened and he gave Éomer a look of sympathy.
"Perhaps we have spoiled her too much, my Lord, and since she grew up with three brothers, it seems she has come to think she'd be the one asking a man for his hand, and not the reverse."
"As it happens I know a thing or two about strong-willed sisters," said Éomer, as he got up.
"I wish you good luck," said Erchirion, raising his glass.
Lothíriel had left her seat, but she had not yet approached any of the Elves present at the feast, for she had come across two of the hobbits and was deeply immersed in conversation with them. She had met Meriadoc Brandybuck in the Houses of Healing and, through him, she had made the acquaintance of Peregrin Took.
"Oh, but there is nothing joyful about this rhyme, it is grim even. When the Black Breath blows, and death's shadow grows, and all light pass…"
"My Lady, it perfectly illustrates the sheer despair of my condition, back then. It shall make quite an impression on my cousins, I say!" exclaimed Pippin.
And the three of them were laughing happily when Éomer stepped in.
"Master Meriadoc, Master Peregrin, would you mind if I had a word with lady Lothíriel?"
"Not at all, lord Éomer," replied Merry, grinning.
He nodded at Lothíriel, so did Pippin, and, whispering and sniggering, the Hobbits headed back to their table, where they planned to eat their fourth serving.
And before Lothíriel could say anything, Éomer playfully inquired:
"Is Ioreth truly your sister's father and am I the only one who knew not they were such close kin?"
His blue eyes sparkled as he met her gaze, but Lothíriel seemed to be immune to his charm.
"Oh, we meant not to fool you," she said, a little sheepish. "However, dear old Ioreth thought it was highly improper for a fine young lady like me to be introduced to a king while I was in the company of a donkey, clad in muddy clothes."
"I hear donkeys make for excellent company."
"They do, indeed. Do believe me, lord Éomer, I was convinced you would not mind my attire or my four-legged friend, but I did not wish to upset Ioreth who was feeling quite anxious already."
"I do believe you," he assured her, beaming. "Should I introduce myself to you once more, now that I know who you really are?"
"Should I not be the one doing so? After all, it is my fault we are not properly acquainted yet, although my father might have told you everything there is to know about me by now."
"Lord Imrahil mentioned no donkey, I'm afraid," teased Éomer, chuckling.
A wide, genuine smile broke into Lothíriel's face, at last.
"Unfortunately, the donkey is not mine," she said and all she could really think about was Ioreth's reaction, when she'd tell her king Éomer had uncovered their scheme.
Éomer, on the other hand, felt light-headed, for thus was the effect that this lovely maiden had on him – it really had nothing to do with the ale.
"Lothíriel, would you do me honor of dancing with me?"
She was not surprised by his request, on the contrary she had been expected it – there was this spark in his eyes, the spark all these lords had when they whished to ask her something. While Lothíriel was used to drawing young men's attention, it was the first time a king asked her to dance and thus, she was not so quick to dismiss him. She also knew her father had taken a great liking to Éomer, and that was a rare occurrence, but what truly convinced her to reply positively to the king of Rohan's request was the sly smile she spotted on her brother's face. If Erchirion was expecting her to reject the king of Rohan and he thought it would be quite an entertaining sight, then she'd be even more happy to thwart him.
"Of course, your Highness," she said sweetly, extending her hand so he could take it.
Erchirion was surprised, so was lord Imrahil, and they both wondered if Lothíriel had decided that a king was worthy of her, unlike any of the lords of Gondor. Yet to her this dance was just a dance, much like when she was twirling with Meriadoc and Peregrin, and although Éomer proved to be a very capable partner, she had no intention of spending the rest of the night in his arms.
"It was a pleasure, truly," she told him, when the music stopped for a short while.
"Shall we…?"
"Oh, I believe there are some young ladies who would really enjoy a dance or two with you and it would be heartless of me to deprive them of this chance," said Lothíriel, gesturing at a small group of maidens who were eyeing hopefully the dashing king of Rohan.
Éomer could not really object to her words and he concealed his disappointment with great skill. "I never knew I would one day be sought after by Gondorian ladies," he said with a smile.
Nodding, Lothíriel smiled back at him and headed back to her seat. Dancing had been fun, yet she still needed to find a way to approach the Elves. Luckily, she did not have to elaborate any grand scheme to achieve her goal, for Meriadoc came to her aid, unknowingly. Among the guests who had come from Lorien was an Elf called Rúmil and he seemed to have many things to tell the Hobbit, even though he could barely speak the Common Tongue.
"Pray, Lothíriel, would you be so kind to translate what this fellow is saying? I do remember meeting him in the golden woods of the Lady, yet it was his brother who did most of the talking back then…"
Lothíriel jumped to his aid, glad to be of service, as she said, but also extremely happy to learn more about the secluded lives of the Elves of Lorien.
"Hobbits, and now Elves, perhaps the Rohirrim are next on her list," Erchirion told Éomer, once he was finally done dancing. "Do not lose hope, my Lord, it was quite an accomplishment to have a dance with her already."
"Is it truly?" Éomer wondered, sitting down.
He was starting to feel slightly frustrated with himself, for all he could think about was how quickly he had been discarded by Lothíriel – and none of the other ladies had been able to get her off his mind.
"In Dol Amroth, the young men do not bother to ask her anymore," said Erchirion and, seeing that Éomer was frowning, he added, "You could enlist the Halflings' help. Is not one of them at the service of your kingdom?"
"I'll admit your sister is quite beautiful… and intriguing too. Yet there is no reason for me to pursue her if she has no interest in me, is there?"
"No, I suppose not. Although you will be seeing her often over the next month, should you not befriend her at least?"
"Will she allow this?"
"I'd wager you will be a nice addition to her collection of eclectic new friends," Erchirion replied, still very amused. "You should rank somewhere between Ioreth and the donkey."
"Oh, I presume the donkey will rank higher than I," said Éomer and he laughed.
He had never met anyone quite like Lothíriel, he was sure of it, even though their first encounter had taken place barely a few days ago. And he truly loved a good challenge.
On the next day, Lothíriel chose not to go to the merrymakings held in town, unlike her brothers, and instead, she went down to the sixth circle of the city, where she found Merry, sitting in the gardens of the Houses of Healing. He was alone, for Pippin was still fast asleep, but he was quite busy, eating leftovers from the wedding's feast. While he was a bit surprised to see the young girl, he was glad to have someone with whom he could share his copious breakfast.
"Lothíriel, why have you not gone with others to the rejoicings? Surely your place is among young people."
"All these young people really wish for is a good excuse to flirt, that is something I have no interest in," she said, shrugging.
"Well, are not most of those brave Gondorian soldiers considered handsome?"
"I dream not of loving a soldier, I would rather wed a scholar. Those do not go to war."
And she took a slice of cake, even though she felt she was still full from the previous evening banquet.
"Not so long ago, I would have agreed with you, Lothíriel, since I used to believe Hobbits did not partake in the wars of Men. Yet if I could fight under the banners of Rohan, then any able man might have to defend his realm, one day."
"And thus, what do you suggest, master Meriadoc? That I never get married, for there will always be a risk of losing my husband to an army of Orcs?"
"I suppose your lord father would be happy to have you by his side in his older days. But I should ask you, what man would rather go meddle with these horrible creatures when a lady like you is waiting for him at home?"
"Oh, you are quite the flatterer, Meriadoc Brandybuck!" Lothíriel exclaimed, laughing heartily. "Are all Hobbits such sweet talkers?"
"I daresay I am quite a gifted individual," Merry said, feigning modesty.
"Indeed."
"But do tell me, Lothíriel, what of kings?"
"Kings? Perhaps I would make a good queen, but lady Arwen is much more suited to this role than I am." She said, and she wondered if she could spend a few years in Minas Tirith, as a lady in waiting of the queen.
"Alright, however the Rohirrim are also in need of a queen and lady Arwen cannot wed two men, can she?"
"I bet there are plenty of young women who would happily become queen of Rohan," replied the young girl carelessly. "For my part, I would rather stay in Dol Amroth, by the sea."
Merry shook his head discreetly, thinking that Éomer had perhaps set his sights too high – should he not tell him already that Lothíriel was a lost cause? He also believed Lothíriel had genuinely not noticed the effect she had on the king of Rohan, despite it being blatant, and it was surprising, from someone ever so clever.
Devouring an excellent apple pie, the Hobbit thought that love seemed to be a complicated matter and that Lothíriel would probably give Éomer many headaches.
Part 3 – The king of Rohan
Exactly seven days after the wedding, Éomer found a way to spend some time alone with Lothíriel, at long last.
It happened by accident, after he had mentioned Béma, whom the people of Gondor called Oromë, and the Mearas, the great horses of the Rohirrim, while talking to lord Imrahil. He knew not this, but there was nothing like an unusual piece of old lore to trigger Lothíriel's curiosity and suddenly, it was inquiry after inquiry from her part – they eventually ended up in the stables where Éomer introduced her formally to Firefoot. Lothíriel was delighted and, beside her, Éomer could hardly believe all he had to do to grab her attention was to talk about horses and legends of yore.
This marked the beginning of their friendship, for afterwards Lothíriel would ever greet Éomer warmly and treat him as courteously as her father and brothers did. It was a great improvement and they became closer even the day Ioreth realized her little scheme had been uncovered. Lothíriel still teased her by calling her "auntie", but Éomer had to reassure the old lady and listen to her apologies for a good hour before the matter was settled for good.
During these summer days in Minas Tirith, Lothíriel discovered the king of Rohan was an agreeable person and she thought she should get to know him, for his sister would wed her cousin, thus they would be family. Whatever were her reasons to spend more time with him, it never crossed her mind she could feel attracted to him or that she could have started developing romantic feelings towards him – she needed no husband, especially not a King who still had many battles to fight. No, she had decided he would be another one of his friends, like Ioreth and like the Hobbits, another one of these unusual friends she had never expected to meet in her life.
"I have been attending quite an amount of merrymakings in the city and its whereabouts, yet I have not seen you in any of them. I must say I wonder why you avoid these events."
"Do you? Why would expect me to be partaking in any of these events?" she retorted.
"Do you not wish to celebrate the King's wedding or the end of the war?" he inquired, genuinely curious.
"The Enemy was defeated, yet I am still troubled by what has happened," she admitted in a low voice and for a moment she seemed to be very grave. Then, she shrugged and went back to her usual self, "Besides, I do not get along well with young folk, I could not spend my days frolicking with them."
"Some have told me you deem yourself too important to mingle with the crowd of Minas Tirith, others that you are simply one of these people who prize solitude," Éomer said – by 'some', he meant his sister and by 'others', Faramir. "However, I think you are neither a snob nor a loner, but simply someone who does not open easily to others."
"How could your opinion of me be so firm already?" Lothíriel asked, not at all disturbed by the fact that she was considered a snob by some and a loner by others.
"I am certain of absolutely nothing," chuckled Éomer. "Except, perhaps, that I enjoy these walks in your company."
As far as she could tell, the king of Rohan was always a cheerful fellow, who thrived among small and big crowds alike. She had heard his laughter many times by now, yet this time it had a strange effect on her – she felt she was blushing. For a moment, Lothíriel gazed at this golden hair, shinier than ever under the Sun and then at his blue eyes, sparkling with merriness, and it briefly crossed her mind he was quite a spectacular man.
"And you are yourself almost as entertaining as master Meriadoc and Ioreth combined," she finally said, clearing her throat and trying to regain her composure. "Not to mention that our families will soon be joined, we might as well get properly acquainted."
"As it happens, our families might have been already connected. My grandmother was a lady of Gondor, from Lossarnach to be precise, yet her family was originated from Dol Amroth."
"I knew not about this, although it does explain why your sister is taller even than me."
And he explained to her how his grandfather had dwelled in Gondor before becoming king of Rohan and how it was there that his uncle had been born.
"In his household, they spoke only Sindarin and Westron and even when my sister and I were children, Rohirric was rarely heard at the court."
"How peculiar!" Lothíriel said.
Once more, Éomer had managed to grab her attention – as time passed, it was easier and easier for him to do so.
And, by the mid-July, they had become good friends. While Lothíriel was kind to him, Éomer could sense she still needed time to open up to him. She sometimes alluded to what she had been through during the war – how difficult it had been to see her father and her brothers leave for battle, how scared she had been that Dol Amroth would be under attack and how it had been a shock to see all those dead and injured soldiers, when she had come to Minas Tirith – she never dwelled on the matter too long, avoiding it most of the time. He hoped she would soon trust him enough to let down her guard and he was a very patient man, for never had been be so enamoured.
As for Lothíriel, she was starting to be a little troubled, although she would not have admitted Éomer was the cause of it, mostly because she had yet to be aware of her own feelings.
That day, they were walking in an orchard, near the walls of Minas Tirith, and she had agreed to pass her arm around his. In the days to come, Éomer would depart for Rohan, along with most of the Rohirrim that remained in Gondor, and with him he would bring back the body of the late king Théoden. This did not mean he would no more see Lothíriel, for she would ride to Rohan with her father and her brothers to attend to the burial and also to bid farewell to the Hobbits who would then go back to their homes, in the Shire. Yet time would come for him to resume his duties as king and, before the end of Summer, he would have to part from her for months, for a year even – at earliest, they'd meet at Éowyn and Faramir's betrothal. Thus, Éomer felt it was time he had a serious talk with his new friend.
"Barely six months ago, my uncle was king of Rohan, my cousin was his heir and I, I was the king's sister-son, the third marshal and it seemed to be enough," he told her, gazing at the great blue sky, where streaks of white clouds formed long lines. "If I were to be honest, it was a little overwhelming at times, however I was proud to serve my king and my people. Oh, everything was not perfect, for already shadows crept in Rohan and Gríma had a sinister influence on my uncle, yet there was always hope we would get rid of the traitor before it worsened. And I could rely on my cousin… Then, Théodred died. He, whom I had loved like a brother, was slain during a battle and I knew the wizard of Isengard had had some part in it. I realized I had become the heir of my uncle and these were tough times, for I had to fight on many fronts, against the Orcs, against Gríma's dark schemes, and I could see my sister waning... How hopeless I could sometimes… Needless to say that upon the arrival of Aragorn and Gandalf in Edoras, I believed the worst was behind us, I believed my uncle had many good years ahead of him still, now that he was free of his curse. Alas, he passed away, he died on the battlefield and on that day, I thought I had lost my sister too... Everything had collapsed around me and I found myself to be king, I had to give orders, to exhort my men and to mourn. It did turn out Éowyn had survived, it did happen we won the war, yet it does not completely erase the grief and the fear I felt that day. I had never imagined I would be anything else than the king's sister-son, the third marshal, and this new reality has yet to sink in. Every morning, when I wake, it takes me a few moments to recall everything that has happened over the last months."
Lothíriel had listened intently to his speech and she found it echoed some of her own fears and uncertainties. During the war, she had been terrified her father and her brothers would be slain on the battlefield and she had been alone, in Dol Amroth, facing unpreceded threats. She had not yet recovered from that and it was still difficult to look eastward, where the shadows of Mordor had lied, for it reminded her how close Gondor had been to lose the war.
"You are wondering why I am telling you all this, are you not?"
She nodded.
"Because it seems to me you would understand I feel melancholic, despite our victory."
His shoulders had slumped, and he was staring at her, searching her face for a sign. He wanted her to share some of these feelings she was ever concealing, behind these impassive eyes of hers. How he wished she'd lean on him, if for a moment only…
"I understand… It will take some time for things to go back to normal," said Lothíriel, in a neutral tone. "I suppose even these incessant merrymakings are a way of coping with the loss of so many dear ones."
"Perhaps," he said with a smile.
But she was silent, and it was impossible for Éomer to decipher her thoughts based on her expression. So, after a while, he decided to try another approach. "I heard you will be present at the burial, in Edoras."
"I will."
"It will be your first travel outside of Gondor, am I right?"
"Yes, I never saw the other side of the Ered Nimrais."
"There is no sea in Rohan, but the plains are covered with tall grass and when the wind blows, it does seem like waves are rolling throughout the land," Éomer told her. "Instead of seagulls and fish, there are horses and larks, yet I presume these little differences should not bother you."
"Oh, I do look forward seeing those herds of horses you have been talking about, but life does not seem to be too sophisticated in Rohan," Lothíriel said, recalling what she had heard so far about the kingdom of the Rohirrim. "Personally, I believe I could never adjust to such rusticity, not for long at least."
"Rusticity?" repeated Éomer, his smile fading.
"Well, your people mostly dwell in villages and small settlements, do they not? Then I cannot imagine their houses look anything like those we have here in Minas Tirith, or back in Dol Amroth, although I am sure it is all very quaint."
Éomer stopped walking abruptly, letting her arm go, and he took a good look at her, trying to discern whether she was teasing him or not.
"Tell me, what am I to you, Lothíriel? Some sort of peasant?"
"No, Éomer, I do not…I did not…" she stuttered – his tone had been brisk and it took her aback.
"I was ever sincere to you, I have been telling you things that…" Éomer said, shaking his head in exasperation. "I… I thought you merely needed time to get to trust me and to come out of your shell, yet it seems you have never really considered me your friend, have you?"
Baffled, Lothíriel tried to defend herself, "I never was dishonest with you! I have been very attentive to what you had to say and I have been very honored you chose to befriend me in such a wholeheartedly way, yet what have you been expecting Éomer?"
"Perhaps I never imagined you would insult my people."
"I did not insult them… Well, I surely meant not to…" she began, before realizing she was only aggravating the situation. "Éomer, I am sorry I have offended you, but, do believe me, I have great respect for your people and for the bravery they –"
"Oh, then we are brave and rustic, like true savages."
"Please hear me out," she pleaded earnestly, "I had no intention of speaking ill of Rohan, I simply… I…"
Lothíriel found there was nothing more she could say. It had dawned upon her she had insulted him, she had belittled the Rohirrim, and she had done so carelessly – yes, carelessly, as she behaved so often. And suddenly, guilt overwhelmed her like never before and she stared at the ground, contrite.
"Up until this day, I was ready to listen to anything you had to say, I wished you would pour your heart out to me… However, I see I was a fool for hoping you would reciprocate my feelings, or merely respect me, was I not, Lothíriel?"
Petrified, she dared not utter a word. Éomer's anger was cold and measured and it somehow was more brutal than any of the scolding she had gotten from her old governess – and worse even was his genuine disappointment.
"Will you not refute any of this, Lothíriel? Can you not tell me you care?"
"I do not think I am the person you believed me to be, Éomer," she whispered at last, and she dared not meet his gaze as she pronounced these words.
"Indeed, I was mistaken."
And he left, going away, back to the city, without so much a look to Lothíriel who stood alone in the orchard.
The young girl was terribly upset and she hardly could figure what had just happened – how could she have been so inconsiderate of him? She should have treated him better, she thought bitterly, she should have been warmer to him and she should have told him she did enjoy his company, immensely…
She stayed a long while in the orchard, wandering through the trees, for she did not want anyone to see her cry.
"She comes from this land where they speak more often the Elven tongue than Westron and where Men still call themselves Númenóreans, thus she thinks we must be dwelling in mud huts! Faramir insists she has a good heart, yet I believe she is immature and selfish," Éowyn said, furious. "I am sorry to tell you this, dear brother, but you wasted your time with her."
"Even now, I wonder… I doubt she was being malicious."
"Malicious or not, her opinion of us is quite clear."
"I suppose…" He heaved a sigh, bitter.
"Do not burden yourself with this, other matters ought to fill your mind," his sister told him softly. "We still have to bury our uncle…"
"Yes..."
Yet Éomer was wondering how he could have been so wrong about Lothíriel – had he merely been dazzled by her beauty?