Lothíriel sat in the window seat of her temporary chambers and gazed out over the city of Edoras, the rows of wooden houses with thatched roofs, and the mountains and grasslands beyond. It was a summer unlike Lothíriel had ever known; with changeable winds, long days with the sun high and bright in sky, followed by short but brutally cold nights that left her wishing for a fireplace. At least she was otherwise sheltered from the elements. Most of their company was camped just outside the city walls, but her family was among those of sufficiently high rank to have been given quarters in the Golden Hall and surrounding guesthouses. Together with her father, Lothíriel was in an eastern wing of the Meduseld, the house of the King himself.
The King whom she had done her utmost best to avoid for these past two days.
The problem was that in his natural environment, Éomer seemed a lot more kingly than he had before in Gondor. Now that he was constantly surrounded by his own people with scores of servants at his beck and call, settling disputes and overseeing every meal, she could not help but take the power he wielded a bit more seriously. It made her feel small. It made her feel incredibly awkward about their encounter on the road.
For days she had been expecting repercussions. She had been quite sure that Éomer would at least talk to her father if not banish her from his lands outright. She also suffered from a rather embarrassing recurrent nightmare that saw her dragged before King Elessar and executed for her insubordination. Yet nothing like that had happened. Instead, Éomer had studiously avoided her for the rest of the trip, and been distant but polite the few times they had been forced into each other's company. Then at Edoras she had promptly been assigned what must have been one of its loveliest rooms; cozy and bright with pretty wooden panelling, a soft bed covered in colourful blankets that invited long lazy lie-ins and windows facing east to welcome the early sunrise. It was all very puzzling.
At first she thought that perhaps this was King Éomer's way of showing contrition, since he had been so clearly in the wrong. Yet there was no remorse in his eyes when he looked at her, quite the contrary, and his offhand and distant manner suggested he was still displeased. Besides, Lothíriel knew well that in these kinds of disputes it did not matter who was right; it mattered who was king. Also, ignoring the King's command and refusing to surrender a horse when ordered would probably qualify as a greater offence than poor arguments or any threat to use force, at least in the eyes of her father who -although he had never lain hands on his daughter- was not above some occasional intimidation himself.
In the end Lothíriel was forced to admit that Éomer could have made life really difficult for her, and had not done so, and she knew not what to make of it but she suspected this put her somewhat in his debt. Formally speaking, of course.
There was a knock on the door and a serving girl entered with a bowl of water and some soap so she could refresh herself. Baths were a rare luxury at Edoras. This had seemed a rather horrifying discovery upon their arrival after fifteen days on the road, when her muscles had been aching and longing to be soaked in hot water. By now she had already accepted it and it did save rather a lot of time. Lothíriel thanked the girl and she blushed and ran off. Most of the younger servants of the Hall spoke no more than a few words of the Common Tongue, and it was hard to get a word out of them. The people of Gondor might not have seen any elves for a long time; but to the Eorlingas, the Firstborn were an unknown entity entirely, nothing more than whispers of sorcerers and witches, and most were rather skittish around them. Although Lothíriel was quite clearly not elvish, she was still foreign with her dark hair and colouring, and she was often in the company of Arwen, so she supposed she was tainted by association.
"Are you awake, Lothíriel?" came her father's voice from behind the door.
"Yes, Ada," she answered, hopping down from the bench and crossing the room to let him in.
"Ah, good." Imrahil entered and surveyed the room, frowning at yesterday's crumpled gown lying on the floor and her belongings strewn carelessly over the bed. Lothíriel had not been able to bring Maeneth to Edoras, because the city would be too overburdened with guests already to be able to house personal maids for the ladies, and the servants here were kept so busy that they had no time to clean up after her. She did not mind, but had observed with interest how quickly the state of one's room could descend into chaos when no one is there to pick up the mess. "I am to meet with Éomer and his seneschal to go over some details about the feast and provisions now, and after King Elessar has summoned a full council, so I'm afraid I will be kept quite busy for the foreseeable future."
"All right," said Lothíriel, already going over possibilities in her mind to abuse this scrap of freedom.
"The Lady Éowyn invites you to explore the markets with her later in the afternoon," continued her father. "Your cousin Faramir will also be there. I take it you accept?"
Not exactly what she had in mind. Lothíriel folded her arms across her chest. "You mean, am I available to chaperone Éowyn and Faramir's assignation? In which case, no, absolutely not."
"Amrothos will go as well."
"Ah. I am sure that will be a very merry party." She was feeling a little sorry for Éowyn and Faramir already.
Her father took her by the shoulders, turned her around and deftly began braiding her hair in two plaits down her shoulders. With no maid and no Aunt Ivriniel to tame it, her curls seemingly had no reservations about sticking out in every direction. "It is a mere formality, but it must be observed."
"I don't know why anyone still bothers. Who knows how many kisses Faramir stole before the host returned to the city last Spring? If indeed it was only kisses…"
"Will you be able to keep out of trouble until then?" asked her father, pulling at her hair rather sharply.
"Of course, father," said Lothíriel demurely.
He looked wary. "Perhaps Queen Arwen has need of you. Why not go and see her?"
So, after her father had approved of her appearance, Lothíriel went down to the Queen's chambers and found Arwen in a small boudoir at needlework. Most of the Eldar were camped along the Snowbourn and kept a fair distance from Edoras. According to the Queen, they much preferred it outside of the enclosure of the city of the Horselords, which was packed with people, haphazard and crowded buildings and, unsurprisingly, the lingering smell of dogs and horses everywhere. Arwen had been spending much of her time with her kin lately, but shared rooms with King Elessar in the same wing as Imrahil and Lothíriel. Not bothering to announce her presence (a bad habit the Queen had chided her for only yesterday), Lothíriel stood in the doorway and observed Arwen at work, admiring the speed and dexterity of her fine movements.
"What are you making, my lady queen?"
"Ah, Lothíriel," the Queen's voice sounded resigned. "It is supposed to be a secret." But she smiled and beckoned her to enter.
"A secret dress? This sounds like important state business to me."
"Do not underestimate the importance of the right cloth at the right time," said Arwen serenely.
She moved aside to allow Lothíriel a closer look. The silk was smooth to the touch, a beautiful, pale lilac, cut in the Queen's usual style with simple, soft lines, short sleeves with a slight flare and the fabric gathered somewhat above the waist.
"It is very pretty, my lady."
Arwen smiled. "I am glad it has your approval, Lothíriel. It is for you."
That was unexpected and Lothíriel felt rather taken aback. "My lady, you did not need to do that."
"I am happy to. I have noticed your discomfort every time you are made to dress up, but I think you will like this gown."
A jolt of pleasure went through her as she imagined herself in the dress, looking regal and composed, and inciting admiration like the Queen. Then she blushed at her own thoughts. "You are far too good," she said to Arwen.
The Queen gently tapped her cheek. "Do not look so anxious, Lothíriel. I enjoy dress-making. I did not put myself through tortuous pains on your behalf."
"In that case I thank you, although I do not know when I will have the occasion, or the heart to wear something so beautiful."
"It is not quite ready yet. There is still a little time for you to grow into it."
Lothíriel could not resist stroking the fabric again, feeling it glide between her fingers like cool water. "What will you do today, my lady, aside from labouring over gowns for your maids?"
The Queen, as she took the unfinished gown from Lothíriel and folded it gently, grew quieter. "I will be with my family. The time of our parting is now very near."
"Ah," said Lothíriel, wishing she had words of comfort to offer. "So I cannot persuade you to join Éowyn and Faramir for a turn around Edoras later, and observe their attempts at courtship with Amrothos pestering them at every turn?"
Arwen laughed at that. "I think not, although I admit that is a tempting offer."
"So you have no need of me, my lady?"
"No, Lothíriel, not today. Go enjoy yourself."
Lothíriel curtsied and closed the door behind her, then leaned against it with a sigh. Enjoy herself. In normal circumstances, Lothíriel would have been able to think of a thousand things to do in a new and foreign city, especially one so bustling with activity as Edoras, but she had been feeling oddly subdued. And then there was another nagging problem: above all, she wished to see the stables, because this was the heart of Rohan and she was sure they would be quite splendid, but she dreaded going anywhere near them or Éomer's Riders after earlier events. Cowardice, she scolded herself. There was no real reason why she should not do exactly as she wished. Besides, she really ought to check on Suldis.
The Royal Stables lay just to the southeast of the Meduseld, separated from the Hall by a stretch of grass and a small copse of trees to prevent the spreading of fire. The building was beautiful, with wooden arches, delicately engraved, gilded pilaster-strips and high triangular windows. In some ways, it was grander than the Meduseld itself, but this was Rohan after all. To the back, the stables opened in the cavalry courtyard, which was surrounded by tiered seating on each side. She had already discovered she could see it from her window if she leaned out just a little. There, the Riders of the Mark trained and exercised their horses when they had not the means or inclination to go further afield. Guards were stationed at the entrance to the stables, although they seemed quite at ease and folk wandered in and out freely. Lothíriel assumed they were more for decorative purposes than anything else, which is why she was surprised when one of them -rather reluctantly- halted her as she approached.
"I am sorry, Princess. I am under orders not to let you in."
Lothíriel's stomach sank as she looked up at the Rider whom she vaguely recognised from the journey. "You cannot be serious!" she said, unable to keep her dismay out of her voice. "I only wish to visit my horse."
"Is she stabled here?"
Lothíriel nodded. "Her name is Suldis. She is a small chestnut, but very fast."
The guard smiled now. "Ah, yes, I know her. She's a pretty little filly, isn't she?
"Yes. She is also mine."
"I am sorry, Princess. Be assured she is well looked after."
Lothíriel bit back her rising temper. "Let me see her and I shall judge."
"I am afraid I cannot. Éomer King was very explicit that you were not to enter the stables without him."
Impatient, Lothíriel tapped her foot. "Then bring her out to me!"
"I am sorry, Princess," said the Guard yet again. "I suggest you take it up with the King."
Fuming now, Lothíriel turned away. Of all the insulting and presumptuous things to do! She looked about, but there seemed to be no other entry into the courtyard. However, it would not be too hard to climb over that wall, if she could swing herself onto that low-hanging branch on the nearby tree first… and she was Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, so of course she could do it. She had already snuck across the grass and was reaching for the branch when she changed her mind. She had no wish to add breaking and entering to her growing list of offences against Rohan. Not yet, anyway. Somber now, she retired to her room and, out of sheer perversity more than anything else, began a long letter to her aunt.
oOo
The winds picked up in the afternoon and clouds came to darken the sun, but the rain would not start until tonight, or so the serving girl who brought out her dinner assured her. The outing with Faramir and Éowyn therefore need not be postponed. Lothíriel was not sure how she felt about that. On the one hand, she was in danger of actually being bored. On the other hand, spending time with Éowyn was a rather daunting prospect, especially when she knew that as a chaperone her absence would be desired by default. If Lothíriel felt wary around Éomer, it was nothing compared to how she felt around Éowyn. It did not help that Éowyn was someone whose good opinion seemed worth having, with her slaying the Witch-King and all, but so far the signs were not too hopeful. Where Faramir was surprisingly easygoing, indulgent even, Éowyn of Rohan was stern, forbidding and so beautiful it could break your heart. Lothíriel and Éowyn differed by only six years in age, but it might as well have been a century, so childish felt Lothíriel next to the Lady of the Shield-arm. She was not completely unused to feeling green and unsophisticated after her months with Arwen, but it was much more grating when the other person was not truly that much older, and allegedly –however distantly- related to you.
"Just be yourself," Arwen had advised when she had raised her concerns again. This, thought Lothíriel privately, was possibly the worst idea imaginable, but then again, what else had she to work with?
It was good that her brother would be there. Amrothos and Lothíriel had been readily available to chaperone Galweth and Elphir as they got to know one another, and so they had some experience with the finer points of this specific form of torment society forced on young couples. So, when they sauntered onto the terrace and found Éowyn and Faramir in a corner with their hands clasped together, they shared a conspiratorial grin.
"Is holding hands acceptable, Lothíriel?" asked Amrothos, startling the lovers out of their reverie.
"I am not sure, Amrothos. What would Aunt Ivriniel have to say about that?"
"Surely not until the betrothal has been announced officially."
"Exactly right. Faramir, we must insist you release the lady at once, for propriety's sake."
"You are fortunate you have us to guide you, Cousin," added Amrothos.
Faramir let go of Éowyn with an apologetic smile to the lady. Then he turned to his cousins. "Let us hope one day I can be in the position to return the favour." His tone was unusually cross and Lothíriel laughed.
They walked down into the city and quickly lost themselves among the crowds. Éowyn explained that many of her countrymen from outlying provinces and villages had come to bid their final farewell to the King, and that this meant also a convenient opportunity to trade wares and create new contracts, which Lothíriel thought a bit singular but undoubtedly practical. As a result, the market was larger than ever, sprawling from the main square into the streets and even out the main gate. The air was full of scents: roasting meat, fresh berries and mulled wines mingled with the sharper smells of cheese, leather and sheep. Many of the offers were quite enticing, and the farmers and traders were happy for the White Lady of Rohan and her party to sample their wares. Especially the beekeepers were rather persistent in offering up his various brews of mead. They were good, sweet and heavy at the same time, and after the third helping Lothíriel was served, she felt rather dizzy. With a smile, Amrothos took her mug away from her.
"That will do very well, I think," he said. Lothíriel huffed but did not argue the point.
Lothíriel's attention was then drawn by a stall on which were displayed some woollen blankets, with soft muted colours and various patterns. One had a stream cascading down the mountains and another horses running through a sea of grass. It was a craft she did not know from Dol Amroth, and it was beautiful. She was particularly taken by one with a hem of midnight blue depicting a mare with her foal against a backdrop of rolling green hills.
The merchant seemed almost uncomfortable with her interest. "It is just a horse blanket, my lady."
"Oh no, it is the softest and most beautiful thing I have ever seen." She turned to her brother. "May I have it?"
Amrothos frowned. "I thought father had given you an allowance of your own."
"Yes, he did. But it was such a paltry sum that I spent it all yesterday."
"Well, there you go," said her brother.
"Oh, but I must have this blanket," said Lothíriel fervently. She tried a different tactic. "After all, we have to stimulate Rohan's economy. I am certain father would approve. Indeed, he would consider it our duty."
"Then I suggest you lead with that when you reopen negotiations," said Amrothos, still unwilling.
"Amrothos, he is busy with other important things! Show some initiative."
"See what I have to put up with?" said Amrothos to Faramir, but he caved and bought it for her anyway.
After they had walked for a while, they passed a tavern and Éowyn proposed they should go in for some ale and to have their tea. The suggestion was well received, and they sat down and ordered drinks for the table, as well as a plate of delicious fruits and cheese. The excursion proved really not as bad as she had feared, reflected Lothíriel, and Éowyn was not so very unlike other ladies she knew.
"Where is Erchirion? Why is he not part of our merry outing?" asked Lothíriel of Amrothos as her cousin divided a jug of ale between them.
"Father is still deliberating with the King, and Erchirion is keeping records."
"Oh, I am sorry," said Lothíriel with a shudder.
"I will tell him it took you about two hours to remember his existence."
"You will do no such thing," said Lothíriel, elbowing her brother in the side.
Éowyn was frowning now and turned to Faramir. "Must they talk on such matters now, while we are preparing my Uncle's burial?" she asked in a soft voice, just loud enough for Lothíriel to hear.
"Your brother likes it no more than you do, Éowyn," said Faramir. "He confided the same to me this morning."
Éowyn looked sceptical. "My brother is a hypocrite. He cannot wait to ride out again."
Faramir smiled but did not seek to deny it. "The timing could have been better. Unfortunately, it will be a year at least before we will manage to gather a similar council, and it is good to plant the first seeds of the campaign now, so that all may have time to prepare."
That at last sparked Lothíriel's interest. "Campaign? As in, military campaign? I thought we won the war."
"Well, I am glad you noticed that part," muttered Amrothos under his breath and Lothíriel absentmindedly shoved him in the side.
"Yes, we won and the hosts of Mordor were scattered," said Faramir, drawing a rudimentary map on the table with his fingers. Her cousin could be rather pedantic at times. "Many of our enemies surrendered, but not all. The Easterlings and Orcs are still roaming the Brown Lands, here, and some of the Harad tribes have been testing our borders in southern Ithilien. We can wait; actually, we must wait, because we sustained heavy losses and we need time to recover, but we should not give them a chance to regroup now that the shadow has departed and they are leaderless and in chaos."
Lothíriel bit her lip, dazed by the news and annoyed that she should be surprised. Of course the Earth had not conveniently swallowed up the armies of the Enemy as soon as they were defeated.
"But then are we going to war again? Amrothos, are you going?" she demanded.
"It is nothing to concern you, Lothíriel," said her brother soothingly. "Nothing has been decided."
"I beg your pardon," said Éowyn. "Of course it concerns her. Indeed, I am surprised you were not aware of this, Princess.
Amrothos grinned. "I do not think Lothíriel realised we were at war with Mordor even when the Shadow fell over our lands."
"Hey, that's not fair. Of course I knew we were at war," said Lothíriel, in no mood for her brother's jests.
"Come on, Loth. I was only teasing you."
"You are always teasing me." Lothíriel puffed out her cheeks. All her brothers were guilty of treating her like a child at times. "Of course, you could have all made the entire thing up. I'm still not ruling it out."
"You believe the war to be made up? How is that possible?" Éowyn demanded of no one in particular.
"Not seriously," said Lothíriel, chastened by Éowyn's hot response.
Her brother gave her an admonishing look. "We were lucky in Dol Amroth," he said to Éowyn. "Of course, many of our knights marched to war and gave their lives on the Anduin, the Pelennor Fields and before the Black Gate. But war never came to our doorstep like it did here in Rohan."
"I thought your coasts were regularly raided by the Corsairs."
"Indeed, that is true," said Faramir now, "but never Dol Amroth, which is sheltered by wild currents all year round. The Enemy cannot reach there, nor the Elven harbour at Edhellond beyond. Only the Firstborn and the House of Galador can navigate the waters there, it is said, but I do not think it has been attempted for many a generation. It is why Dol Amroth also has such a strong tradition of cavalry forces, as you do here."
"I almost convinced Erchirion to attempt to cross the waters, but he had some sense after all. But my cousin is right, my lady. No enemy of the free people of Middle-Earth has set foot in Dol Amroth for a thousand years, longer than the memory of your people," said Amrothos.
"And you spent all your life there, Princess?
Lothíriel nodded. "Pretty much. I am probably the most sheltered person you will ever meet."
"That is astonishing," said Éowyn. She bit her lip, the first less than dignified thing Lothíriel had seen her do, and looked thoughtful. "Were you never frustrated to be kept so secluded?"
Lothíriel was honestly not sure what Éowyn meant by that, but she knew enough of the White Lady's history to guess where this particular conversation was going. "I - no, I do not think so. I heard all the stories from my brothers, and was quite happy for them to remain stories."
"Stories!" Éowyn seemed truly perplexed now.
"Éowyn, I am not like you," said Lothíriel, her voice sounding more plaintive than she had intended. "I would not have the first idea how to fight a battle."
"I cannot believe that! You have three brothers who command armies. Surely you have picked up a sword yourself, if only to try."
"Um, no," said Lothíriel with some shame. "I was always very glad to not be subjected to the drilling my father forced on them. Volunteering for it did not even enter my mind."
"You have never trained with a sword? Or a bow, at least? I understand that some skill in archery is not uncommon among the ladies of Gondor."
I have never trained with a sword or a bow," echoed Lothíriel dully. "But you are are right, it is not uncommon."
"But what then can you do to defend yourself?"
She considered that for a moment. "I suppose I could run away very fast. I am a good runner."
"Not an altogether unworkable strategy, to be sure," said Amrothos with a grin.
"You are very casual about your sister's helplessness," observed Éowyn coolly. Amrothos paled just a little. The White Lady of Rohan apparently had a discomfiting effect even on her brother.
"I am not helpless," said Lothíriel, leaning her elbows on the table.
"Forgive me, Princess, but it sounds as if you are. You should have been taught at least some rudimentary skills! Especially since you will likely not all your life be in Dol Amroth."
Lothíriel did not know what to say to this and opted for silence.
"This must be brought to Prince Imrahil's attention," said Éowyn with some determination.
Lothíriel buried her head in her arms in despair and Amrothos laughed out loud.
Faramir picked up the jug and topped up Éowyn's mug. "I have to admire, dear heart, how you managed to turn this pleasurable outing into a war council as well."
Éowyn picked up her mug and suddenly a playful glint appeared in her eyes. "Yes, I'm not sure how that happened. As you see, Faramir, us wild shieldmaidens of the North will always find a way."
They passed the rest of the afternoon talking on less contentious topics, such as the ways of the Eorlingas and the differences between their countries, but as Lothíriel bade the others goodbye, she felt Éowyn's gaze linger on her with an unreadable expression in those pale blue eyes, and Lothíriel felt judged and condemned.
A/N A heartfelt thanks to all reviewers; all your comments are really appreciated. I will be flying home to my family soon, and afterwards am moving halfway across the world, so updates may be a little more erratic over the next week or two. However, it is still my intention to finish posting this arc around New Year's Day.
