Chapter 3
Lothíriel had been right about the scoldings she would receive. The moment Aunt Ivriniel got to her, she received such a strong rebuke from the woman that the young princess was sure even her Father or Grandfather would not surpass the vehemence of her tone or the colourfulness of her chosen expressions. Knowing that she fully deserved her aunt's harsh words, Lothíriel remained silent and did not even try to explain herself (and anyway she had a feeling any excuses would just have fueled Aunt's anger). Though it made her feel intensely ashamed and desperately disgusted with herself, she endured Lady Ivriniel's outburst with whatever scraps of dignity she could gather together.
"You are right, Aunt. I was not acting very wisely. I am very sorry and I promise this won't reoccur", she finally said when her aunt was practically gasping for air. The poor woman was still clutching her chest and there was an ill colour on her face.
"You better promise! But don't even think this is the end of it. Young lady, I'm sure your father will want to discuss this with you when we reach Minas Tirith, and you're lucky if he'll ever let you outside the palace again!" Aunt Ivriniel barked and then sat down to catch her breath, probably regretting her decision to let the young princess come along.
As for Éomer, he was the kind of a person to quickly lose his temper, yet he was also fast to forgive. So, when Lothíriel approached him timidly and offered to help him with a minor cut on his right hand, he patted ground beside him and let her see to his injury.
Prince Imrahil always took pride in extensive education he had arranged for his children. Thus Lothíriel had already learnt to write and read on early age among the other and varied things a well-bred princess ought to know and be able to do. However, Imrahil also thought his children needed to master also some practical skills – the kind that would be useful in these times when the future seemed to promise so little certainty.
"I want my children to be useful. I want you to be able to be in control of chaotic situations", Imrahil had once said, but the young princess had never dared to think of what those chaotic situations might be. For Lothíriel's brothers, this meant battle training. Although she too would receive some lessons in marksmanship (though it was unlikely they would continue now after her little feat), the more important part of her schooling was her studies and helping out in the House of Healing. By the age of nine, she already knew how to treat shallow wounds. When her traning had began, she had thrown a tantrum as she would too have wanted to learn how to handle a sword and fight. However, as her lessons progressed, she found healing was a fascinating trade, and just as useful as that of a warrior.
They did not speak when Lothíriel cleaned up the cut and then dressed it with linen. His dark eyes remained on her all the while though he did not speak, until she finally made the last careful knot.
"There! You'll be as good as new in no time", she promised. "Just keep the cut clean."
"I will", he said softly and his eyes fell on the bandage.
"Are you feeling well?" asked the princess, searching his face. What if he had some more sinister injury and she hadn't just noticed it? But that did not turn out to be the matter.
"For a moment, I thought I'd lose you. I thought I wouldn't get to you in time, my lady", Éomer said after hesitating for a moment. "It was terrifying... and I don't like feeling that way. I'm sorry I yelled at you."
"No, don't apologize. It's me who is at fault here. You were right to be angry with me", Lothíriel hurried to say, feeling the embarrassment once again. She still couldn't tell what had gotten into her. To be honest, she wasn't so sure if she ever even wanted to know.
"I worry about you, princess. I fear something might happen to you on your way home. Please, promise me that you'll be careful. I couldn't bear it if the orcs or whatever darkness that lurks in this world stole you away", he said, and though he tried to hide it, there was a faint frantic note to his voice.
"I'll be careful. I promise that to you, my lord", she said reassuringly and squeezed his good hand. "And what danger could there even be in Dol Amroth? I'll be quite safe, with my Grandfather's men all over the palace."
This seemed to console him and some of the tightness in his expression left his face.
"Lady Lothíriel... May I ask something of you?" he asked then.
"Of course you may", young princess said quickly, trying to see his eyes in an attempt to understand what was going on in his mind. But his gaze wouldn't rise up to meet her, so she could only imagine what he might be thinking.
"When you reach Minas Tirith, could you perhaps send me some kind of message? Just to let me know that you are safe?" he pleaded. The desperateness of his voice was not lost to her.
"I promise I will. Whenever I get a chance, I'll write to you", Lothíriel promised and patted his arm.
For the first time on that whole day, he smiled.
The shock of what had happened – and the reality that she had actually killed a living being – hit her only after she had taken care of Éomer's cut. Suddenly, as they were eating supper, the realisation hit Lothíriel with full force. She was not sure what triggered it, but as she looked down in her bowl of vegetable broth, she started to quiver and shake as if in ague. Tears streamed down her face and when Éomer demanded what was the matter, she couldn't answer.
He quickly understood what was wrong with the young girl. He could be young but he was not a warrior for nothing. He had seen people go into hysterics after a battle before, and Lothíriel was not the only one who was overwhelmed by this kind of shock after their first fighting experience. So he gently gathered her in his arms and carried her to the tent she and Aunt Ivriniel shared, with the woman fussing around them. She occasionally suffered from her nerves – or at least she said she did – so she had always with her a small vial: it contained thick, dark syrup that helped one to sleep. Under Éomer's vigilant watch, Aunt Ivriniel gave a small dose of the medicine to Lothíriel and gently rocked the crying girl in her arms. The princess fell asleep there, the last image in her eyes being her life-saver's serious face.
After the fight on the plains, the company travelled without seeing any more Dunlendings. This did not calm Éomer or Aunt Ivriniel one bit; Lothíriel felt like there were always eyes on her, just waiting her to explode and do something foolish or go into shock again. And it was not just her aunt or the young warrior, but the other members of the group, too. To them, her little escapade came across as very improper. It was not a Gondorian noblewoman's place to wage war, unless it was an absolute question of life and death. That had not been the case with the Dunlending attack, however. As Aradhain strictly informed the princess, the Swan Knights and the Rohirric riders had very much had the situation under control.
"You're very lucky that young master Éomer was able to get to you before you got hurt", the captain said gravely and shook his head.
"I know, I know", Lothíriel sighed for the hundredth time. Truth to be told, she was fairly certain she could have dealt with her shame had she not put up such a show later, acting like a bawling baby. It didn't comfort her at all even though Éomer insisted she was not the first or the last to react that way.
"You should have seen me after my first battle", he said and offered her a comforting smile. "I couldn't speak or stop shivering until hours after, and though I bathed several times that day, the smell of blood just wouldn't dissolve."
"But you didn't cry like I did", Lothíriel said and made a face. He sighed and seemed to understand that there was no compromising with her as far as this one matter was concerned.
Even though her Gondorian relatives did not approve of her feat, she found unlikely allies in the Rohirric guard that was escorting them. Apparently some of them even held the notion that Lothíriel's marksmanship was impressive. So whenever aunt Ivriniel or Éomer's eyes would be elsewhere, one of the fair-haired warriors would pat her arm in secret companionship and quietly whisper: "Well done, my lady!"
The time of parting came all too soon, as the party reached the Mering Stream, which marked the border of two countries. The Rohirrim would not cross the river, as Lord Steward preferred the outlanders not to enter the realm without a reason.
"What will you do when you return to Aldburg?" the princess asked her friend on that last day of their shared journey.
"I will go back to my training, I suppose. The lands need to be patrolled in case of orcs and Dunlendings, and my captain will likely want to investigate where that group we encountered came from. Dunlendings don't usually come this far east", he answered.
"Will you keep yourself safe?" Lothíriel asked, not daring to look at him.
"Of course I will, my princess. But what of you? What will you do when you return your home?" he inquired.
"Well, I will probably be in house arrest because of my little... feat the other day. Father will have me working at the House of Healing all my spare time", Lothíriel muttered. It wasn't that she disliked working with the healers. It was Father's disapproval she did not look forward to. But then, it was all she could expect after what she had done.
As they stopped to water the horses, Lothíriel silently walked to Éomer, hiding her hands behind her back.
"My lord?" she called him. He lifted his eyes from his horse to meet hers.
"What is it, Princess?" he asked. She hesitated for a moment, but then started babbling quickly and barely taking any breath between the words: "Well, I thought it wouldn't do to part without giving something to you, and it's a custom amongst my people to give things to one's friends when one knows they won't see each other in a long time, but I was not sure what I could give to you so I made you this."
Lothíriel took the embroidered handkerchief from behind her back and gracelessly showed it into his hands. The fabric was light green (she had gotten the cloth from the markets of Edoras) and she had embroidered a golden horse on the centre of it. The animal was not as graceful as she had intended, but at least it didn't look too much like a cow. On the edges of the handkerchief she had embroidered thin garland with darker green and with tiny spots of white that he'd hopefully recognise as flowers.
Éomer took the handkerchief quietly and stared deeply at it for a long moment, almost as if he had just received a Silmaril from her. There was kind of a strange look on his face when he lifted his eyes, but Lothíriel could not tell what he was thinking.
"It is beautiful. Thank you", he whispered. The words were simple, but his voice held all the praise and gratitude she could ever have hoped for, and her heart felt like bursting with happiness and pride. He smiled, "I have something for you, too."
He turned back to his saddlebags, folding the handkerchief gently and put it away so carefully one might have thought it was his most precious possession. Then he took a small Rohirric blade, sheathed in brown leather, and gave it to her.
"This does not mean that I want you to go hunting orcs or that I secretly approve of what you did the other day... and it would perhaps be for the best if your aunt did not see this. But I fear there will come a time in the future when this could save your life. I... I can't always be there to look after you, but perhaps I won't have to, if you're ready and armed. This way, at least something of me can be there to protect you", he said quietly. Then he began to show where she should strike should she ever come across an orc and be unable to use her bow. He touched his own body to show the best places to disarm the possible attacker.
Lothíriel imagined this might have – or perhaps should have – made her uncomfortable, but she could only think of his words: at least something of me can be there to protect you.
At the sight of the river the princess let out a small sigh. It was a long journey still to Dol Amroth, but somehow she already felt like coming to an end of sort. She turned to Éomer who had been riding beside her. His face was serious and his eyes unreadable, but something about him spoke of discomfort. Perhaps his cut was bothering him, and Lothíriel instantly proceeded to tell how to keep it clean and treat it. However, his expression soon made her quiet down.
Not speaking, he reached for her hand, squeezed it gently and then dropped it.
"Ferthu Lothíriel hal", he said quietly, apparently forgetting all about proper titles. Suddenly tears were pooling in her eyes, and the princess wanted to hug him and tell him they would meet each other again one day, but she did none of that. Instead, she offered him a teary smile.
"Ferthu Éomer hal", she whispered. She barely heard the other horselords' shouts of farewell. For some unknown reason, she slipped into Sindarin: "Sílo Anor bo men lín..."
And then he turned his horse and rode with his companions, and she saw his face no longer. More than anything, Lothíriel wanted to turn around and watch him as he went, but she got a hold of herself and fixed her eyes on the road ahead.
A/N: Ferthu hal = Fare you well (essentially meaning "Goodbye and good luck.")
Sílo Anor bo men lín = May the sun shine on your road.
And this is where we leave Rohan for a while. I know this chapter is short, but consider it something of an interlude. However, I promise that the next chapter will be longer.
baubles - Thank you for your kind words! I was worrying whether everything is moving too slow, so it's good to hear that at least someone out there doesn't think that. I'm glad that you like the story!