Chapter 6
The first thing in the morning after dressing up and sending Naneth to enjoy some breakfast, Lothíriel grabbed her bag of healing supplies and hurried off to see her warlike patient. Her heart felt surprisingly light this morning, and it was no wonder to her why that was. She tried to keep her pace even – it was no place for a proper princess to dash about – but her way to his door still ended up something of a run. It felt like she couldn't get to him fast enough.
The door was slightly ajar and she knocked it to announce her arrival. Then, hearing his voice calling her in, she stepped in. As soon as her eyes fell on the Marshal she smiled for the sheer pleasure of him being there. After all these years of uncertainty the mere sight of him was a delight.
Éomer was already up, standing by the window and reading some piece of parchment, brow knitted and eyes pensive. He was not wearing his armour (it was placed on a stand by the corner), but a simple brown tunic and dark breeches. He lifted his eyes when she stepped in, and an instant smile graced his lips.
"My lord, who gave you the permission to get up?" she demanded to know when she saw him up and about.
"And good morning to you also, my lady", he said, slightly amused. "I was feeling quite well this morning, so I saw no reason to keep lounging in my bed."
"And your head?" she asked. "Has it bothered you?"
"Not at all. I am as good as ever", he promised.
"Let me see your wounds, my lord", Lothíriel requested and after taking off his shirt he sat down obediently on the edge of his bed. The cut on his forehead seemed to be healing well - she speculated it might not even leave a scar. Then she opened the bandage around his shoulder and examined the wound. It seemed rather good too, and had a clean smell that cleared out any suspicion of infection. The Marshal's wounds would heal in no time. Only when she had replaced the bandage with a fresh one did she realise how warm his skin felt under her fingers and what a large man he was; suddenly, she found it hard not to stare at him. She could feel her ears getting hot and turned her attention to her bag of healing supplies. Usually, she didn't react like this when she tended to her male patients, many of whom often were in various states of undress.
"Your injuries seem to be healing well. I'd give them couple of days, though - I do not want that wound on your shoulder to open up on road. I'd say we'll be able to leave by the end of the week", she said, trying not to stumble over the words.
"My lady, if you were trying to convince me to not to ride, you did not succeed very well. Maybe I should go riding this very morning so that I can keep you here with us a bit longer?" he teased her. All the while, a strange light danced in his dark eyes. It captivated her and almost made it impossible for her to answer.
"Really, Lord Marshal! The things you say..." Lothíriel stuttered at last, pretending to be horrified by his words. She did not meet his gaze but tried to look like she was searching for something from her bag. That way, her hair fell over her face in such manner that he would not see her blush. He did not need to know that she'd very much have liked to stay here with him. After all, he had better things to do than to waste his time with her.
"I have a way with words, Princess", he said innocently and put his shirt back on. "Now, am I correct in assuming you haven't eaten breakfast yet?"
"That is correct", she answered.
"May I escort you to the hall and offer you my most delightful company, your highness?" he asked, rising up from the bedside.
"Indeed you may, my lord. Let me just take my healing supplies back to my room", Lothíriel said and felt finally collected enough to look properly at him. Èomer seemed to be completely at ease, a bright smile on his face and his eyes glinting, and the princess couldn't remember if she had ever seen him looking so happy. For a moment, her heart felt too big to fit in her chest.
He escorted her to the door of her bedroom – she basically just dropped the leather bag on her bed as she did not want waste any moment she could spend with her dear friend – and then returned to him. He offered her his arm, and together they walked to the hall. Most of his men were already gathered there, laughing and talking as they wolfed down their food. Éomer nodded to his riders who merrily hailed at him, happy to see the Marshal up and about. The way men greeted their Marshal seemed most different when Lothíriel thought of how her father's soldiers behaved back at home. It wasn't that the Swan Knights didn't respect Prince Imrahil; the Rohirrim just seemed to have a less reserved and more friendly relationship with their chiefs.
The pair sat down by the Marshal's table that was situated on a dais by the end of the hall. He offered her a chair beside himself and he sat on the very centre – a seat he would only surrender for the Lord of the Mark or the Crown Prince. Éomer nodded at one of servant, who had been observing the Marshal closely in case his services were needed and came carrying food and drinks for them. The food was simple and nutritious, securing strength for the day's work. Lothíriel, however, hardly even noticed what she was eating – she was so caught up in the animated conversation that had rose between them the moment they had sat down. She told him news from Dol Amroth and Gondor, her life during the past ten years and he answered with tales of his own recent deeds (which was a conversation they'd carry on for many, many days). In many ways it was difficult to remember such a long time had gone by since their last meeting. Even now after three years of his last letter it felt like falling into a conversation that had been started a day or two ago.
"My lord, I just realized I haven't even congratulated you for your new position as the Third Marshal. I am very glad for you", she said when they were finishing their meal. He beamed happily; although he had been a Marshal for about a year now, it looked like the fact that he had lived up to his father never failed to give him this feeling of prowess. She could very well understand that, though personally Lothíriel thought he more than deserved that position.
"Thank you, my lady. You are too kind", he said and smiled. She then asked of his sister and uncle. Of the first one he spoke of lengthily, but of Théoden King he only muttered that the man was as ever. The shadows in his eyes at the mention of his uncle were telling indeed.
Perhaps it was that brief troubled look on his face that brought it back to her, but suddenly Lothíriel was reminded of something important - a question she had been meaning to ask him ever since she had seen he would be fine. "Why did you stop writing to me, my lord?"
His expression turned now even darker and turned into a frown; it was as if a shadow had fallen on him. He bent his head towards her, his voice not more than a whisper.
"Did you understand the message I could not address to directly?" he asked quietly.
"I got the impression you thought you were being watched and your letters weren't safe", she answered, keeping her voice low also.
"That is right. I was not sure anymore whether our correspondence would be safe for either of us. You see, Edoras is no more the way you might remember it. My uncle has become old and tired... and in his old age and weakness, he has begun to listen to other voices than those nearest to him. His advisor, Gríma Wormtongue" – Éomer spat the name with utter despise – "has gained more and more power during recent years. It has not proved to be a good thing, my lady", he explained quietly. "I am not a favourite of his and I do not know what his intentions might be, so I deemed it better than I am in no contact with you."
"I see", Lothíriel whispered and felt the cold grasp of worry in her heart. It looked like her father and Lord Denethor might have been seriously mistaken in thinking that Edoras, or Rohan altogether, would be somehow safer for her or anybody. But she suppressed that thought – it was not as if she were alone. She knew she could place her trust on Éomer. He would watch her back, no matter what. But then, he was a soldier, and if Théoden King's court housed snakes like this Wormtongue, much more subtle skills of battle would be needed... and Lothíriel didn't know if either of them had those.
"Do not be fearful, my Princess. I will not let any harm come to you as long as you stay in Rohan", he promised and lifted his hand as if to touch her, but then let it drop down.
"I know, Lord Marshal. I trust you", she answered quietly. Very quickly, yet gently, he took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. Then he let her hand go and got up.
"There are some things I need to attend to. Will you be fine by yourself?" he asked.
"Oh, I am fine. Go ahead, my lord. But if you overexert yourself and get that wound open, I will not be so gentle and understanding", Lothíriel urged and even succeeded in summoning a mock face of strictness. It made him smile, which was the best she could hope for after such a conversation.
"As my Lady commands", he said smoothly and nodded at her.
As she watched him go, the princess could not help but wonder exactly with what kind of mess she had gotten herself involved by coming here.
After finishing her breakfast Lothíriel returned to her room. She took some of her clothes out of the saddlebags but decided not to unpack all of her things. Her escort would be leaving in few days anyway, so there was no reason to try and settle down here, though she knew very well which town of Rohan she'd have preferred to stay in, especially after the news she had received.
When she had organized the contents of her saddlebag again the princess decided to go and explore the town a bit while she still had the chance, as there was no knowing when she'd get to visit Aldburg again. Naneth and one of the captain's men came with her, of course; evidently her father had ordered at least one Swan Knight accompany her whenever she went out. She knew better than to argue against this arrangement but it still made her feel self-conscious and paranoid.
During her calm stroll out in the sunny courtyard, she came across the local House of Healing (though if one was of more cynical spirit it could have been called the Hut of Healing). It was nowhere near as eloquent a building like the ones in Dol Amroth and Minas Tirith – the wooden building itself was kind of small and looked forlorn to the princess. On a sudden impulse, she went in.
Master Ferdbrego, the local healer master, had not yet returned from Edoras, so the building was dark and empty. There were two rooms only and a musty scent hung in the air that should not have been there, given that the man who laboured here had been away only for a day. Lothíriel drew back the curtains before the window to let the light in and turned to inspect the insides of the house.
For a long moment, she just stood staring and imagining what her own master back at Dol Amroth would have said. He would have been horrified, she was sure. Never had she seen such disorder and chaos as she saw on the narrow shelves: all the herbs, vials and other supplies were in utter disarray. The small writing desk was flooding with various pieces of parchment and one of the drawers was bursting with linen to be used as bandages. Lothíriel, however, would never have dressed anyone's wounds with those linens. For starters, they did not even seem very clean. The first lesson she had even gotten in the art of healing was that cleanliness was the primary key to recovery.
The princess took a deep, calming breath and then turned back to face her guard.
"Innas, might you be willing to do a favour for me?" she asked.
"Anything you ask, my lady", he answered and bowed.
"I want you to go and find the housekeeper. Ask her to send two aprons, some hot water and soap for me here. And take that box of so called dressings out of my sight. You can tell her to use them for whatever she wants – I think they would make good dish rags", she ordered with the same calm authority she had seen Master Berianir exhibiting so many times. The Knight nodded and left to do as she had requested.
Lothíriel herself, with the help of Naneth, drew back all the curtains, opened the windows to let in some fresh air and started the humongous work of creating order in this chaos. From a shelf to shelf they went, wiping the dust with clothes they had found from the box of linen and inspecting the herbs and vials and then ordered them in a manner that only a person who had spent hours and hours in such work could. She remembered perfectly how healing supplies were arranged in Dol Amroth and she used the same idea for organisation here, until the shelves were spotless and the supplies were in array, easily to be found when they'd be needed. That feat itself took two hours even with Naneth's help, but Lothíriel barely noticed the time.
Finally, when she was satisfied with the shelves, she went over to the desk and started sorting out the scrolls and pieces of parchment. That was what the two young women were still doing when Master Ferdbrego arrived.
The man froze at the doorstep and for a long moment, he just stared at the room, as if he had suddenly stepped into a Dwarven cave instead of his station of work. Then he turned to Lothíriel, his eyes blazing.
"You foolish girls! What have you done to my supplies? You have completely ruined my order! How am I supposed to find anything in this mess?" he barked. Lothíriel was instantly offended.
"This mess? Good mister, this so called mess is what we in Gondor call order! How are you supposed to treat to your patients when all the supplies are in complete disarray and you don't even have clean linen?" she snapped back and slammed down on the desk a pack of recipes for medicine she had been sorting out.
"You seem to have forgotten that this is not Gondor, girl! My herbs were perfectly organized before you came here and started messing around with your foolish ideas of order!" the healer shouted.
"That is nonsense! What do you propose I should have done last night had I not brought my supplies with me when Lord Marshal was brought injured from an ambush? What if his injuries had been worse than they actually were and he had died while I was trying to make sense of this chaos?" the princess yelled.
"You treated Lord Éomer? That is my responsibility, young lady!" Master Ferdbrego growled.
"So he should just have laid waiting for all the night and morning for you, even though there was someone around who actually could help him?" she threw back.
"You arrogant child!"
People were gathering on the door now, curious of what was happening. Lothíriel was about to answer the healer, when she heard another voice – a familiar and commanding one: "Make way!"
Éomer appeared on the doorstep, filling the door frame entirely. He always seemed to fill the room when he stepped in – especially when he was angry.
"What is going on in here?" he barked impatiently.
"Someone let these girls in and they have made a mess of my things! How am I supposed to do my work here now?" the healer raged and threw his arms in the air.
"We were just trying to help and make some sense of the chaos in here! Have you seen his linens for wounds, Lord Marshal? Your men could get very sick because of them!" Lothíriel defended herself and her handmaiden, who was looking pale and more than just a little startled.
The Marshal frowned at the healer.
"She is a Princess of Gondor, and I expect you to show some respect to her. She did not mean you any harm – your reaction is completely out of proportion, Master Ferdbrego", Éomer said in a strict, authoritative voice. It made the other man flush, but he did not say anything. Then the Marshal turned his eyes to the princess. "Do not think you are completely innocent. You should not have come here and meddle with the master's supplies. You should have waited for him to come back and then ask if he needs your help."
"I certainly don't need her help! And I never did!" the healer muttered, looking sort of satisfied.
"Silence. I do agree that you should keep better order here", Éomer said in a voice that closed the topic. Then he turned his eyes to Lothíriel. "My lady, why don't you come with me?"
She was feeling utterly embarrassed and did not trust her voice. So she just nodded and followed him out, not meeting anyone's gazes. This was exactly what Aunt Ivriniel had meant when she said that Lothíriel could be so overbearing sometimes... especially when her intentions were perfectly good. Obviously, she should listen to her aunt more.
The princess only spoke when they were at the Marshal's House.
"I didn't mean any harm", she said quietly and he laid a hand on her shoulder.
"I know that you did not, and frankly I completely agree that the master should learn a lesson or two about order. But I had to give him some sense of satisfaction. As you already noticed, he can be difficult to deal with... I'd rather have him somewhat content than let him feel utterly insulted. Everything runs smoother that way and he does better work when he is on good mood and to be honest, he is not a bad healer... after all, you could have asked for permission", Éomer stated. Lothíriel nodded quietly, not meeting his eyes. Gently his hand crept under her chin and lifted her face. There was tenderness in his eyes – the kind she did not remember seeing in them before (except perhaps for the last night?). "Do not fret, my lady. I would imagine that the citizens find your rising up to Master Ferdbrego rather refreshing."
"I made a completely fool of myself", she said, however, and felt more than just a little miserable.
"Nonsense. I rather admired the way you stood up for yourself. Master Ferdbrego will not recover any time soon, and I daresay we shall soon see him enjoying the order you brought into his realm", he said and grinned.
At that, Lothíriel finally smiled.
Always vigilant, he watched her.
Ever since they had arrived to Aldburg he had seen a new kind of flush on her usually pale face. There was light in her eyes, a small smile on her lips. Her usual solemnity was gone for the most parts, replaced with this strange contentment. It was an odd thing to see in a world that was filling with shadows.
He had watched her enough to know why. It was the tall Marshal - the damned horselord.
Every morning, the two of them would go for a short stroll through the village, with the girl Naneth following closely by. Then they would part and the Marshal returned to his duties, and both of them would be wearing almost identical expressions of delight. She would entertain herself training with her bow, chatting with her maidservant while occupied by some needlework, reading her book or making friends with the locals. On dinner, she would sit beside the Marshal.
And they would talk. Always talk. There was no end to it! She was revealing her mind to the Marshal and he would take in all that secret knowledge, she would smile at him with that special smile on her lips... And he recognized the expression in the Marshal's eyes, even though the horselord tried to guard himself all times. Yearning. Desire. For her.
He knew a competitor, a very threatening one, had entered the ring. If he would not do something, the flower he wanted would fall in the hands of another.
On the last night before their departure for Edoras, Éomer took her out for a short walk (they never got very far from the doorstep, though - it was important for them to be seen by the guards so that no questions of propriety would arise). The dinner had been heavy, so some fresh air and exercise seemed like a good idea. Lothíriel knew she would miss their calm strolls together once she'd arrive to Meduseld, but she did not speak of it. Then again, she did have a feeling that he might agree.
"My lady, there are some things you need to know before we ride to Edoras", Éomer said quietly once they were out. It was a beautiful night: the sky was clear and the moon was already riding high, painting the plains with silver. On a night like this, it was easy to understand why elves so loved the night.
"What is it, my lord?" the princess asked and glanced at him curiously.
"You remember what I said of my uncle's advisor?" he inquired, keeping his eyes in front of him, but he did catch her silent nod from the corner of his eye. "You have to be very careful around him. He is a powerful man and going against him would only cause you harm. Remember that, my lady. Remember that well. Even I have to remind myself often... It is not easy with my temper."
"I'll be careful", she promised. "It's not like I'm very important anyway. This man will probably not even pay any attention to me."
"I trust you... and I trust my sister to keep you safe. I believe Wormtongue will not have any interest in you as long as you stay away from him. However, should something happen, even if it's not related to him... send a message for me. I'll come for you as quickly as my horse Firefoot will carry me, and I'll visit Edoras as often as I can. But do not pick just any man to deliver the message, if the need appears. Ask guidance from my sister. She knows who you can trust. Should something happen and you can't get a word to me, go to Éowyn. She knows how important you are to m- to Gondor."
He spoke with silent, slow voice, but Lothíriel could sense his discomfort. There was certain edge to his voice, she could tell; she could feel his desperation, his fear for her, and the extent of it surprised her. For that reason, she could not argue with him, even if she did feel a bit uncomfortable about his words. Maybe letting him do this for her would give him some peace of mind.
"Don't worry, my lord. I promise I will be careful and take care of myself", she promised. He stopped walking then, turning to face her. He opened his mouth to speak, but did not seem to find his voice, and there on his face was something deeply troubled. Then he tried again and this time words actually came out of his mouth, but his voice was odd, even somehow pained.
"Blue suits you well. You look very beautiful – if I did not know better, I might think I had come across a high lady of the First-born", he said finally. His words did astonish her and she quickly looked at him, but he would not meet her gaze... and she wondered what precisely had him saying such a thing. But whatever his intentions behind the words were, her heart was suddenly filled with strange ache and she felt like crying, and she did not know why. Suddenly, she wished Aredhel was here to give her advice. Her sister-in-law had always been so much better at making sense of emotions such as this.
"Lord Éomer!" Éothain, the Marshal's second in command, shouted from the main entrance of the House. The Marshal turned abruptly and he looked somewhat annoyed by the distraction. Still, he offered her his arm and they walked back.
"What is it?" he asked and Éothain started talking quickly in Rohirric. Lothíriel's grasp on the language had been improving past few days and she even understood some words, but in essence she could not tell what the warrior was saying to his master. Not to mention her head felt too dizzy with all the thoughts that were currently racing in her mind.
Éomer listened closely to Éothain's words, but did not give an immediate answer. Instead he looked back at the woman beside him.
"There are some things I need to attend to, my lady. You should go and rest for the journey tomorrow", he suggested. That sounded like a good idea to her. So she curtsied – if a bit ungracefully – and bid good night to the two men. They bowed to her and she started making her way to her chamber.
The corridor she needed to cross to get into her room was completely dark – someone had apparently put out the torches. Lothíriel was not particularly fond of pitch-black corridors, but she braced herself. The way to her room wasn't that long, after all. Still, she hoped she had a candle to light the shadows.
She had crossed about the half of the dark corridor when something moved in the shadows. Lothíriel could only see a dark shape in the front of her and she was still peering at the stranger when he grabbed her. He covered her mouth, preventing her from screaming, and his other arm held her in steely grip.
"I have been watching you, little princess", he whispered with a low raspy voice. "For some time now. Those delicious hips of yours... you are such a temptress. What can man do? You haven't let him touch you, have you? It would be such a shame if he got to you first... You're mine, you know!"
She tried to struggle, to drive her elbow into his guts, but he was stronger than her. It was of no use to fight back. Why had she left her blade in her room? Panic started to arise in her, her limbs freezing over the terror. But inside, she was screaming. Éomer! Help me!
"I know you want it too, don't you? You do, I know it. Such soft flesh... You will want it. They all do. I'll make you see!" he growled and started to drag her after him. But by the grace of Valar, or just some gloriously well-timed accident, he stumbled over something, and his hand slipped away from her mouth.
For a second, there was perfect clarity in her mind. She screamed from the very top of her lungs, and the sound was so shrill and blood-freezing that it startled even Lothíriel herself. Her attacker cursed heavily and thrust her back so violently that she fell over. Then he was gone, and there were shouts nearing her, but the clarity was gone and she was shivering and sobbing and terror pulsed in her very veins... She barely registered the fact that now there were two guards looming over her, the other carrying a torch in his hand. She did not understand a word they said and she almost screamed again when the shorter of the two tried to touch her shoulder, because surely they would only carry on from where the man had left off...
But then a large shape was running towards them, taller than the others, and she thought she would just die from sheer relief, because now her life-saver was here, sweeping her in his arms and she was safe safe safe...
"Princess Lothíriel!" he called her and she could hear the fear and alarm in his voice and she wanted to soothe him and tell nothing was wrong anymore, but she could just cry with relief.
"T-t-there w-was a... a... m-man! He g-grabbed m-me... H-he w-w-wanted to..." she barely whimpered, but it was more than enough for the Marshal. He instantly started barking commands to his men, and the riders rushed to see if they could still reach the attacker. Her friend gathered her against himself and held her, muttering words of comfort.
It was only then she realized she was not the only one shaking.
Lothíriel only started to come back to her senses when he had carried her into her room, placed her on the edge of her bed and ordered Master Ferdbrego to fix something soothing for her. Her maidservant Naneth fussed around her, looking like it was the poor girl's fault that this had happened. Éothain was standing at the door, waiting for the Marshal's orders. The man's hand was on his sword, as if he were expecting the mysterious attacker make another appearance any moment.
"Can you tell me what happened?" Éomer asked when he had made sure she was not hurt – there were only some bruises on her arms – and the princess was calm enough to talk. He was crouching in the front of her, his face serious but his eyes ablaze with barely contained anger. Only much later she would understand what kind of effort it had taken for him to stay calm and not just chase after the attacker in murderous fury.
"I... I was coming back here when I realized that the corridor was dark... I was h-halfway when... when I saw something moving i-in the shadows. I-I did not realize what was happening until... until he grabbed me. He covered my m-mouth and I couldn't call for help. He s-said he w-w-wanted me and then he s-started to... to drag me, but he stumbled over s-something and his hand slipped. That's when I screamed", Lothíriel explained, her voice failing even though she tried to keep it steady. Éomer listened to her quietly, but his face betrayed his emotions.
"Did you see this man? Can you describe him?" he asked.
"It was too dark. I couldn't see anything. I suppose he was wearing a chainmail... That is all I know", she answered slowly, her voice becoming steadier now.
After collecting himself for a moment, Lord Éomer nodded and stood up, looming over her in a manner that suggested instant death for anyone who dared to hurt her.
Master Ferdbrego was on the door, peering curiously inside. Éothain took the potion from him and sent the man away. The Marshal exchanged few short words with the warrior and received the potion, which he then gave to Naneth. Finally he turned back to Lothíriel.
"I say you should change into your nightgown and drink this calming drink master Ferdbrego has brought for you. Do not fear, my lady – I'll place guards by your door for the night. Your maid will stay with you as well", Éomer said. "You should rest, anyway. We have a long road ahead tomorrow."
"Has... has there been any sight of... him?" Lothíriel whispered the question.
"None at all. The bastard seems to be long gone", Éomer answered, his voice turning harsh. "Do not worry. If he shows up again, he'll be taken care of. Permanently, I might add."
The princess nodded and let out a long, heavy sigh. The Marshal's face softened and he touched gently her shoulder.
"Good night then. Should you need anything, the guards will be right behind your door", he promised again and squeezed her shoulder tenderly. Then he and Éothain exited.
Lothíriel was calm now, but somehow her body didn't seem to work at all like it should. Naneth had to undress her like a child and help the nightgown on her, after which the maid escorted the princess to bed. Master Ferdbrego's potion tasted bitter, but it quickly calmed her into a dreamless sleep.
A/N: It appears there's some competition as far as Lothíriel's attentions go... This is partly what I mean when I say I'm not entirely happy with this particular thing in the story. But I'm working on it and hopefully it'll turn out something slightly better than it originally was!
One thing on characterization. Though Lothíriel is rather quick to judge Master Ferdbrego's methods, her views are biased and I feel that essentially, the poor man isn't too bad a healer. They just happen to have clashing personalities, and for that it's probably good that she is due to leave Aldburg soon.
Ortholeine - You're definitely correct about that, and currently I'm trying to come up with something to flesh out this "watcher" arch a bit more. Gosh, I'm suddenly so worried I'm going to disappoint everyone. Anyway, thanks!
Lucy - Glad to hear that! It makes all warm and fuzzy inside to know that my story can actually make people feel such happiness. No worries - updates will come. If not daily, then at least every second day.
wondereye - Yes, I try to hold on to Lothíriel's POV, but I do my best to present Éomer's thoughts too. Good that it has worked so far.
As for what Éothain says... well, I'd think he'll be happy with whatever Éomer deems best.
solar1 - So far I've got 28 chapters done and that should be it.