Chapter Eleven: Goddess of the Sea Indeed

Early the next morning they began their journey to Edoras, the long procession carefully organized and surrounded by soldiers in intervals on all sides. Théoden led the cavalcade with Aragorn, Éomer following with Amrothos, and both Éowyn and Lothíriel behind them. Gandalf, Gimli, and Legolas trailed further back, and followed by them were the women and children, the disabled and the elderly, and the bodies of the dead prepared for burial. The men who were no longer fit for battle had stayed behind to finish the cleaning of the keep, as well as a strong contingent of soldiers to hold fast the defense of it.

The day was bright and boasted of a pleasant temperature, but the wind was volatile. Clouds obscured the sun at some points which Lothíriel found a nice respite for her healing skin. She was dressed in a gown of cream, this one tighter in the waist and squeezing her bosom unmercifully. The wide cuffs dipped low to tickle the shoulders of Firebreather and the bodice was embroidered most beautifully with glittering golden thread depicting long swirls and elegant arches. Éowyn had laced it up the back as lightly as she could, but still the rounded neckline chafed at the sensitive skin of her chest and the hem of it fell disastrously short of her feet. Éowyn had tried to fix her hair into a braided coronet as well, but the woman had clumsy fingers when it came to hair; strands fell from the plait to tease the nape of her neck or fall into her face. Lothíriel had teased her heartlessly before deftly pinning Éowyn's shorter hair in a low knot at the nape of her neck, the color of which contrasted nicely with the forest color of her own gown.

"I'm glad you found the fortress of Helm's Deep pleasing. It will take a while to mend, but the Deepening Wall will stand sure once more." Éowyn was saying to Lothíriel after she had recounted her tour with Éomer from two days past.

"It is a mighty fortress, reminding me much of the one built on the Bay of Belfalas." Lothíriel replied.

She sat side-saddle atop Firebreather who pranced happily among his companions, eager to be out in the open once more. When she and Éowyn had taken to the stables this morning to ready their mounts Master Hobard had thanked Lothíriel for her insight on Firebreather; he had been awed to find how much more manageable the mount was in the open pen and had commented that he had never seen a horse consume so many apples.

"I have never been to the coast." Éowyn remarked, her blue gaze traveling to Lothíriel from the open sky above her. Lothíriel watched as a smile stole over her friend's features and her eyes twinkled in wonderment. "Will you describe it for me?"

Lothíriel closed her eyes, allowing a sigh of contentment to pass through her lips. "It is always warm, even in the low months of winter. A gentle breeze, whether from land or sea, always keeps the air smelling sweetly of salt. Our castle lies only a short distance from the beach where I would ride my mare Seawind through the dunes high with sea grass to sand as soft as silk, but only on the days we did not take to ocean in a small ship my brothers built in their youth. Fair weather we are always graced with, but on some summer nights a storm from the south comes barreling through to quench the thirst of the earth. The village is always bustling with kind folk and trade from all over Middle Earth; the Haradrim with their strong spices and fabrics the softest you will ever feel, the dwarves and their precious jewels, and men selling pelts from animals only known in the Northlands. On the opposite side of our great stone castle three levels tall are green fields filled with cows and sheep, before the hills give way to the lush forests bordering the Ringló."

"Do you miss it much?" Éowyn asked, causing Lothíriel to open her eyes to look at her friend.

"I haven't given much thought to Dol Amroth, if I were to quite truthful with you."

"Do you not miss your father and brothers?"

Lothíriel shrugged faintly, swaying with the gait of Firebreather. "I do, but I am having too much excitement to dwell on them overmuch. Besides, I am not looking forward to being reunited with my father. I think he will lock me in my room until I wither from old age."

"Am I to hear of these infamous adventures now?" Éomer had dropped back with Firefoot, a grin on his face as he met Lothíriel's grey gaze. "And what's this about being locked away?"

"Lothíriel is convinced that her father will never again let her see the light of day when she returns home to Dol Amroth." Éowyn laughed, causing her brother to do so as well. "I will steal you away to Edoras, if that be the case."

"And I am lucky to have a friend such as you." Lothíriel bowed her head toward Éowyn, and the Lady of Rohan completed the feat of sweeping a graceful curtsy from the back of her steed.

"Do not forget you promised to tell me of your adventures." Éomer cut in, successfully redirecting Lothíriel's attention back to him. It was an easy accomplishment, for whenever he was near her heart began to flutter like the wings of a hummingbird. Before the hearth on their last night at Helm's Deep the evening before, Lothíriel had become tongue-tied so many times while speaking to Éomer that her brother had begun to mock her and she had stayed quiet for the better part of an hour afterward before she had fallen asleep. She did not embarrass easily, but it seemed that upon meeting the horse master her life had begun to tilt precariously into a realm of feelings and behaviors that she was not accustomed to.

Even now she lifted a hand, straining to pat a rather errant lock of hair back into the plait of her coronet. "I'm sure your sister is rather tired of hearing my story."

"On the contrary; I cannot see it ever getting old!" Éowyn laughed. "I daresay that bards are already composing sonnets to your deeds."

"I don't believe we've heard the story straight from the horse's mouth either." Gimli and Legolas pulled up on the other side of Éowyn, their faces barely containing their enthusiasm.

"They were too boastful of their own feats to listen to the bravest of them all." Éowyn whispered loudly from the back of Windfola with a wretched grin.

"Oh do not encourage her!" Amrothos called from where he rode next to Aragorn. "You will inflate her already large head!"

"At least I will have something in there, unlike yours!" Lothíriel called back quickly and hotly.

"I did not know hot air counted as a substantial brain material!"

The laughter that ensued made Lothíriel wish she had something to throw at her infuriating brother, especially for treating her so in front of Lord Éomer! She could feel her cheeks burning as she imagined herself pelting a rather large rock at his head. Or maybe a rotten tomato. Amrothos hated tomatoes.

"Come now, my lady, tell us of your adventures." Éomer called to her, and she reluctantly turned her gaze to the Marshal. I don't want him to see me like this! Her jaw was rigid and she could not help but to cast a glare at Amrothos when he turned to face her and stuck his tongue out at her.

Child! She stuck her tongue out right back!

She settled back into Firebreather's saddle and notched her chin a little higher, refusing to acknowledge her errant brother anymore while Éomer laughed heartily at her own foolish behavior.

"When I heard that Middle Earth was falling to the shadow of the east…"

And so her story went, from how she had begged Celís to help her drug the guard and steal his clothes, rode out next to her brother on a warhorse that no one could tame, slept in chainmail on the solid ground, struggled with the unruly Firebreather day in and day out, and dealt with the disorderly soldiers. She left out not a single incident, and the entire company would admit that they had never laughed so hard in their entire lives as her tale came to an end.

"Most women would run from the mention of war." Gimli growled out through his monstrous beard. "Yet you cast yourself straight into the middle of the fray."

"I will admit, Master Gimli, I never thought my actions would bring me here." Lothíriel replied.

"What made you want to ride out in the first place?" Éomer rode closest to her now, having been listening to her entire story in complete and utter rapture.

"I couldn't bear the thought of my kinsmen risking their lives for my country while I sat at home and waited for news. I am a strong, able body willing to fight for those I love. Must I stay at home and mend clothes for someone when I do not know if I will ever see them again? Wondering day in and day out if it will be this day that I find out that I am sovereign of Dol Amroth because my fathers and brothers gave their lives fighting a cause I did not understand?"

"Powerful words." Gimli said, his eyes settled hard on the princess.

"Do not mistake me; I know I have a duty to my country and I will well accept it in due time. But I would've never been ready to be the true Princess of Dol Amroth all on my own if I had stayed home in my father's gilded cage burdened with fear and ignorance.

"I had only the faintest idea of what was happening in Middle Earth, and never would I have imagined in a thousand lifetimes it to be to the extent as I've discovered. It is not often that I get the chance to explore new lands without my father and brothers hovering over my very shadow, so I decided to take matters into my own hands. And I refused to be ignorant in this cause, not when we are so close to war. I am an intelligent woman with a strong soul; not one to be left out in times of despair." Lothíriel offered an unapologetic smile to her captivated audience. "I cannot say that I regret a single moment."

"Well, I am not going to complain." Gimli nodded at her. "It is refreshing to find a kindred spirit such as yourself; rare to find one that near matches the beauty of the Lady Galadriel." He leaned toward her conspiratorially, lowering his voice to a gruff whisper. "The elf is not as easy on the eyes as he would like to believe."

Lothíriel laughed as Gimli chose that moment to lose his balance, and had to rely on said elf to steady him. Legolas reacted with the agility of his kind, deftly setting the snarling dwarf back on the saddle they shared. Lothíriel was red in the face from her laughter, unbeknownst to Éomer's eyes riveted to her bewitching smile.

"I can only wait to see what great deeds you have yet to accomplish, and I do so with bated breath." Legolas said, his blue eyes sparkling in the low light of the sun even though it had dipped behind a cloud.

"I hope I do not disappoint! I am not built of greatness; merely luck and womanly charm." Lothíriel replied, though she did bow her head in thanks.

"I don't think you could ever disappoint, in any manner, my lady." Éomer said softly, so softly that she almost missed it. Lothíriel turned her head then, and for a moment the rocky hills of Rohan and their boisterous companions melted away, and they shared a heartbeat's worth of unsaid words with their gazes entwined. Lothíriel's chest constricted, though not in an uncomfortable manner, and her body flooded with a warmth that she had never felt before, could not give words to. She smiled then, a beautiful smile, and turned her face away lest Éomer read her thoughts through her eyes. Though, if truth be told, she wasn't sure if there were any thoughts to be read; his gaze had stolen her wits yet again.

"Éomer!" Théoden rode hard to them suddenly, and she was ripped from her reverie by his voice. "Legolas, Gimli. We ride ahead to scout.

"I'll ride north, you take the east way." Théoden instructed before cantering off on Snowmane, causing Firebreather to prance in excitement. Lothíriel reached down a hand to soothe the beast as Éomer and the others took their leave, following the orders of the king.

Lothíriel watched as the Marshal kicked Firefoot into a gallop, preceding the procession with Éothain and Legolas with Gimli. She gazed after him long after he had disappeared over an outcropping of rocks, her hand still absentmindedly stroking Firebreather.

"I daresay you are becoming the heart of the company." Éowyn teased her, sidling Windfola closer to Firebreather. "Even my brother seems quite taken with you."

"They will tire of my antics soon enough. My own family cannot deem to bear me for much longer than a day." Lothíriel said, making light of the situation so Éowyn did not notice the pink blush stealing across her cheeks at the mention of Éomer's attention.

"It is rather unlike my brother to be so captivated by one person. When he is not walking about with a scowl on his face or training with his éored, he likes to spend his time…how did you so eloquently put it? Warmongering and drinking copious amounts of ale?" Éowyn teased.

"Should I not fit your brother in with the rest of the Rohirrim then?" Lothíriel struggled to maintain an air of levity, but by now she was sure Éowyn could hear the rampage of her heart.

"On the contrary; my brother is very stern most of the time. He takes his position as marshal quite seriously and this war has brought him much added strain." Éowyn said sadly. "I have not seen him laugh so much since before the attacks on Rohan started, and it has not fallen beneath my notice that it is only around you, my dear Lothíriel."

"Pah!" Lothíriel dismissed, jerking her head in denial.

"You spent the majority of the day together yesterday and the day before," Éowyn pressed, much to Lothíriel's chagrin. "The conversation after supper last evening was a complete debacle; I have never seen anyone's face quite so red! And in the short time I have known you, I have never once found you to be tongue-tied. Shall I also mention at the noon meal my brother could hardly take his eyes from you? Dare I believe Rohan swapped one sorcerer for another?"

Lothiriel turned her nose up and sat straighter in the saddle, hoping the added height would help keep Eowyn from seeing the blush creeping up from her neck to her hairline. "I am no more a sorcerer than Firebreather. Now hush your idle words; they mean naught."

But the rapturous joy that blossomed in her core, stoking the flames in her soul even higher yet, meant more to Lothíriel than she would ever give voice to.


They pulled their company to a halt before the sun fully set over the fields of the Mark, and Lothíriel busied herself with helping the women unload and take care of the children. Éowyn was not far from her side throughout and Lothíriel did not realize how aching her feet had become until Amrothos brought her a small plate of greens and salted meat and bid her sit with him to pass the meal well after the sun had set. Under the watchful shadow of the mountain and not far from a small pond Lothíriel enjoyed her meal, Éowyn and Gimli joining her and her brother soon thereafter. The dwarf shared his pipe with Amrothos as they talked battle strategies, boring the two women to absolute tears.

"What say you we find this pond and dip our feet in the water?" Lothíriel asked Éowyn. "I'm sure it is a safe venture we can make on our own."

"As long as you promise not to fall into the shallows; I am not a good swimmer and don't know how I would fare trying to save you in the dark." The Lady of Rohan replied, rousing a laugh from Lothíriel. The two stood and Amrothos halted his conversation with Gimli to address his sister.

"Where are you off to?"

"To soak our feet in the pond. I think it will do my wound good."

Amrothos frowned. "Is it bothering you?"

Lothíriel shook her head; though, in truth, the injury plagued her more and more throughout the day. She attributed it to overuse and exhaustion.

"Be wary then; there will be soldiers about, but it cannot hurt to be on your guard." And with that Amrothos turned back to Gimli to carry on the conversation, dismissing the two with not more than a glance.

Lothíriel and Éowyn began to wade through the pallets and fires, ceasing to talk for fear of waking the slumbering children. The night sky was bright and filled with stars, and Lothíriel found her gaze traveling many times to the twinkling far above. The moon was in its waxing crescent phase and proudly shone without the hindrance of clouds high above the Entwash in the very far distance. The air was cool but not chillingly so, and it was refreshing once they broke free of the encampment and its smoking campfires.

"We are lucky to have come upon a pond; I did not know one existed in this part of the Mark." Éowyn said as they came upon the water only about fifty yards from where they had made camp for the night. Guards milled about with the horses, talking lowly amongst themselves and seeing to the mounts. Lothíriel and Éowyn exchanged greetings with the men before taking to the far side of the pond where there were fewer horses and the trees lined the base of the mountain. They had no light with them but were in within eyesight of the guards, and Lothíriel let out a dainty sigh as she and Éowyn moved to unlace their restraining boots.

"I cannot tell you how many dresses I ruined taking to the waves back home in Dol Amroth as a girl." Lothíriel laughed, tossing her boots far enough away so they were not in danger of getting wet. "My maid Celis would have a fit when I returned home dripping salt water."

"Are you a good swimmer? It is something that I never truly learned how to do." The women reached for one another as they took to the shallows, their skirts held high to avoid the ripples of the pond.

"My brothers and I delighted in scaring the grey hairs to my father's poor head, but yes, very much so. We grew up on the water." Lothíriel swished her feet through the cold water. "But as I grew older it became unseemly for a lady to frolic about the waves. It has been a long while since I have swum."

Éowyn suddenly slipped in the mud of the shallows of the pond and gasped loudly, startling the horses. Lothíriel laughed as she dropped her skirts to catch Éowyn from falling, becoming unsteady herself. The women drew the attention of the guards as they squealed and flailed, though thankfully did not find themselves dowsed in the cool water.

"And you mocked me!" Lothíriel chided good-humoredly, taking up her skirts once more. They were drenched now but Lothíriel knew it would do no good to continue to soak them, so she held them even higher and exposed more of her calves in doing so.

This was just what I needed. Although her injured foot throbbed in dulled pain, the soothing laps of water helped to quell the ache. She found that she could not put much weight on the extremity but ignored the notion; she would be better in the morning she was sure.

"Was this not the perfect idea? My feet were aching so very badly!" Lothíriel remarked to Éowyn.

"The cold water is very refreshing." Éowyn sloshed her feet about, causing waves to tease Lothíriel's legs. Lothíriel moved away but kicked a small bout of water toward the lady, rousing a cry of alarm from Éowyn. She laughed and kicked a small wave in revenge, sending Lothíriel turning tail and pulling her skirts up about her thighs as she moved into the water well past her knees.

Silence fell between the two and Lothíriel turned her face to the sky, tipping her head back far as she spun in slow circles.

"Is it not beautiful?" Lothíriel asked, sighing wistfully. "I love looking at the stars."

Éowyn turned her gaze to the sky as well. "I prefer the warm light of day, but aye, they are very beautiful."

"It is just so peaceful. It is quiet and soothing, the tranquility of the mountain." Lothíriel closed her eyes and took a slow breath of fresh air, drawing a smile from Éowyn.

"You best hope there is no fire drake waiting beneath it." Éowyn teased, causing Lothíriel to giggle.

"Éowyn!"

The harsh voice peeled across the water and caused the women to startle and, quite untrue to her dual nature, Lothíriel lost her balance in her haste.

She heard Eowyn gasp a splint second before she exclaimed, "Lothíriel!"

Lothíriel whirled her arms to try to maintain her footing but the mud was too slippery and her skirts, already soaked from before, threw her even more off balance. With a gasping scream, eyes wide in panic, Lothíriel fell back into the water with a great splash, thoroughly dowsing herself as she submerged briefly beneath the water.

Lothíriel pulled herself up to sit uncomfortably on the muddy and rocky pond floor, gasping and sputtering away the putrid water that soaked her hair, her clothes, and her skin. She pulled a thick lock of hair from her face and choked on a mouthful of the water, rubbing her chest to ease her gasping, when suddenly a pair of sturdy arms twined about her knees and wrapped around her back. She let out another gasp as she abruptly found herself shivering in the cool night air rather than the dredges of the shallow pond.

Coughing lightly, just now able to catch her breath, Lothíriel looked up at the sternly chiseled face of Éomer as he carried her from the pond, now dripping wet himself.

"Éomer!" She coughed again on water, one hand at her throat while the other pushed an unruly lock of sopping hair from her face.

He did not respond to her, but unceremoniously dumped her to her feet once they met dry land. A great crowd had gathered to see what the scream was about, but dispersed at Éomer's black look and gruff words of dismissal. The horses were disheveled from the scream and the guards were busy silencing and soothing them, but there were a few who could not suppress their laughter at the drenched princess and the equally soaking marshal.

Lothíriel was hot with mortification and busied herself with wringing out her ruined hair as Eowyn slowly clamored out of the water, wheezing with laughter and red in the face from it.

"What in the devil's name were you two doing out there?" Éomer snapped hotly, causing Lothíriel to become more engaged with her sopping hair than was necessary.

"Lothíriel thought it would be a good idea to go for a swim." Éowyn snickered, shaking out her skirts, ignoring the scathing look that Lothíriel shot at her. "Honestly though Éomer, there was no need to shout like that!"

"You know better than to stray in the dark!"

Éowyn grumbled something under her breath about overbearing brothers, and then said louder, "There were guards nearby; they saw us come and knew what we were about."

Éomer took one fury-filled look at his sister's soaking skirts and dripping legs before turning even angrier eyes to Lothíriel. He quickly averted his gaze back to his sister and, if it were possible, scowled even more heavily.

"You know better than to upset the waters; we know not what lurks beneath." he said sourly, his hand on the hilt of his sword as he shook water from his own hair.

"Oh Éomer really; it is a pond no deeper than the height of our knees." Éowyn rolled her eyes.

"It was my idea, Lord Éomer; please do not be cross with your sister." Lothíriel interjected.

He will think me petty and childish! It was suddenly very important that Éomer in fact did not think that of her and Lothíriel's palms began to sweat. But I cannot let Eowyn take the blame!

Éomer turned furious brown eyes to her, his lips thinned into a rigid line. Lothíriel worried her bottom lip but put on her best smile. "It won't happen again, I assure you."

Seconds full of aggravated tension stretched into moments. Lothíriel squirmed uncomfortably under the scrutiny of the Marshal, dropping her head to look at her bare feet as his eyes moved from her dripping hair, to her bodice plastered to her torso and chest, to her ruined skirts, and finally to her bare legs. It was only when Éowyn cleared her throat that Éomer snapped out of his perusal and Lothíriel looked up at him, tweaking her bright smile to finally soften his gaze.

"I will escort you back to camp. And there you will stay for the night." Éomer said brusquely, turning abruptly to lead the way.

Éowyn offered her brother a face he could not see, causing Lothíriel to giggle. Éomer shot a look of contempt over his shoulder at his sister but she had nimbly turned her gaze to the sky to avoid his ire. He turned back around then and Lothíriel continued to worry her bottom lip, her hands twisting idly in the layers of her skirt.

I hope he does not think poorly of me, she thought, her eyes watching the movements of his powerful stride. They dipped to his broad shoulders to his trim waist, before lingering on the fine curve of his backside. Quickly realizing what she was about Lothíriel jerked her gaze up to the encampment that surrounded them and cleared her throat, her cheeks hot with a blush.

You sinful girl; the gods will have their punishment on you yet!


Éomer saw to it that Lothíriel and his sister were deposited in the hands of two willing maids who would see to it that they changed and retired for the night. Without a word he left them to their devices, not even bidding them goodnight as he strode away.

They should know better, Éowyn most of all! He mashed his teeth together quite forcefully as he made his way back to his own campfire with the most trusted of his éored and a few Meduseld guards. They are lucky there is no danger about.

Or eyes as lecherous as mine own.

It took every ounce of his composure to place one foot in front of the other and ignore the images of Lothiriel in her sodden cream gown that almost disastrously revealed every ounce of her flesh beneath, her becomingly dripping hair, and her endearing look of contrition.

"What was the squealing then?" Gamling asked him as Eomer took his abandoned seat before the flames, reaching for his wineskin of ale.

"My sister," he spat angrily. "And the princess Lothíriel thought it would be a good idea to soak their feet in the waters of the pond."

"And?" Éothain asked, tipping back his own wineskin of ale.

"They could've been captured!"

"By who? The area is being scouted in all directions for five miles. Nothing could slip past Mithrandir, Aragorn is a ranger from the North, and that elf is uncannily sharp." Éothain laughed as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"They could've…gotten hurt!" Éomer busied himself from drinking from his wineskin, his ire still hot. "Drowned even!"

Gamling let out a hoot of laughter. "The Princess of Dol Amroth? Drown? Where are your wits, man?"

Éomer glowered at his friend. "Stranger things have happened."

"I see no problem with their behavior; in fact, you would've done well to hold your tongue and merely watch." Gamling responded, earning himself a nudge and a guffaw from the nearest soldier.

"Careful." Éomer bit through his teeth.

"Ach, not Éowyn! The princess; she is a beautiful maiden."

For some reason that made Éomer bristle even more than the thought of his sister. "And a lady, you will do well to remember."

Aye, and yourself as well! Do not act innocent in all of this; your eyes lingered where they should have not.

How could any man ignore a beautiful woman in a soaking gown?

An image of Lothiriel's shapely legs slammed into his mind then, and he took another strong draught of his ale to whisk it away.

"I can appreciate her loveliness, can I not?" Gamling shrugged and earned himself another ribbing from the nearest soldier, and Éothain joined in with the laughter that ensued.

"Keep it to yourself." Éomer snapped, taking another slug of ale.

"Treading on thin ice are we?" Éothain mocked his friend.

"I only worried for their safety." Éomer grumbled, staring into the flames of the jumping fire before him, his thoughts a muddled mess.

"You worry too much!" Éothain slapped him on the back.

"We are in the middle of a war. Every shadow can be the enemy, every movement one that could take my life." Well, he was in a sour mood now, wasn't he?

"Relax Éomer." Gamling called from across the fire. "We jest; we mean no harm to the princess but know well enough now where we stand." The laughter from those who were listening was loud and boisterous, and made Eomer even more sullen than he already felt.

Éomer ignored him and instead finished off the ale in his wineskin, his brow falling even more sternly over his face. He knew not why he was so angered. And for the life of him he could not forget the absolute happiness lining Lothíriel's stunning features before she had taken to the water. Indeed he had slowed his gait as he came upon them, transfixed by the way her eyes had shone in the dim light of the stars and her cheeks had held a rosy hue of mirth and wonderment. Even more so, Éomer could not get the image of her slim white calves peeking out from beneath her dripping skirts from his mind no more than the could forget the way her soaking gown had highlighted every curve he could ever wish to see.

No matter how many times he forced himself to think of something wincingly repulsive instead.

As he shifted in his seat thanks to a sudden, uncomfortable entity beneath his belt, he rued the knowledge that he had no more ale to drown his thoughts.

Aye, it is going to be a long night.