Thank-you to the visitors unknown and known!~ Who have supplied me with such lovely feedback.
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A cloudy breeze blew through the winding streets of the City that afternoon. Lothiriel gathered up her wayward skirts and hurried with harried grace up to the rising White Tower of the stony Citadel. It loomed strangely foreboding above her head... and even the blue of the mountain couldn't erase its starkness. 'What awaits me there?' she wondered, reflecting upon her mysterious summoning.
Earlier that day as she had stood beside Eowyn Wraithslayer, she found that there was another sort of intimidation that didn't stem from any battle. It was the respect of power and the wonder that it should happen to reflect down upon you...
Aragorn Elessar had called her here... his embossed seal still curving in gold and ivory patterns when she closed her eyes. She was the princess of Dol Amroth... but she still found herself wondering why the king of Gondor wanted to see her in the Citadel. To receive such a missive was a mixture of the private and the public, the urgent and commanding, and filled with the intonations of political honor. In that single flash of insight she was perplexed, intrigued and yes... intimidated.
Eowyn had gazed at her response curiously; but then her fair-haired friend had just emerged from a harrowing sword fight with her betrothed. She had no problem facing down the men... even Aragorn Elessar. Lothiriel had always operated by more subtle means, but the times in which they lived did not favor subtlety. Perhaps what drew her so strongly to Eowyn was the Rohirric woman's boldness. Faramir's victory cost Eowyn more than she would ever say... but even in defeat Eowyn was bold... fiery and disarrayed.
Lothiriel hated this wind. It tore away her neat composure and made her miss even her most irascible patients in the Houses. But maybe she disliked the wind because it also dragged her the heart of Minas Tirith's court. Where she would be expected to be smooth and polished, Imrahil's beautifully elegant daughter, when she feared she was nothing but a rough stone... grounded and yet carved by the eddies of water that flowed over her.
Lothiriel reached the Citadel's entrance, happy to be inside, but avoiding the eyes of the guards. She was shy of men even if she had tended them, shy of men because she had never fought them, and shy of men because she had seen her heart drift from a common Gondorian soldier to the King of the Eorlingas, to the Elven warrior-prince of Mirkwood. Her hands absently readjusted the dark ebony pendant resting upon her breastbone as she was led to the receiving chamber. Her old love's gift. Yet she did not want to dwell on the past. She wanted to be proud of herself and face her own future.
And face the new king... Lothiriel had shared only courtesies with him, but she respected the stern yet fair visage of King Elessar. But she found that he always made her a bit nervous as he symbolized the esoteric unknown. Feeling unusually masqueraded in these lightly colored garments, Lothiriel swept over the creaking threshold and into the chamber with the attitude she imagined Eowyn must have when she faced down an opponent. Chin upraised, feet steady and swift. She was not simply Lothiriel the healer today... but Lothiriel, most important noblewoman of Gondor...
For a moment she felt she could pull it off. Of course Aragorn Elessar looked rather imposing in this smaller yet no less grand audience chamber, but there was some business to attend to... and Lothiriel told herself it should be a simple matter. Yet as she curtsied low and reverent in the quiet room and greeted Aragorn Elessar with a quick meeting of their eyes... Lothiriel was startled by the sound of a cough. Wheeling about she beheld her father, barely suppressing a surprised gasp in the process. Imrahil stood to the side of the room, almost unobtrusive. Almost. What was he doing here? Suddenly Lothiriel felt acutely apprehensive all over again. What on earth could this meeting mean?
"Father?" her voice sounded shaky to her ears. He inclined his head to her, breastplate rattling. A deep blue cloak swept back from his broad shoulders and his eyes met hers intently. He looked every inch the prince of the Gondorian seacoasts...
"Lothiriel, don't worry. King Elessar wanted me here so we could broach a subject of great importance to you."
"Yes... it is an appropriate time to mention the political importance of whomever you marry, and marry you must, Princess Lothiriel." Aragorn Elessar smiled, but it did not remove the sudden gravity from his words.
"Marry?!" Lothiriel opened her mouth to utter the words incredulously... but then she stopped herself and simply nodded, closing her eyelids in contemplation. She should have known...
There had been a time when she had contemplated marriage the same way all young women did... as something far and yet just around the bend. For she was a princess of the ancient house of Dol Amroth, and it was expected that while she was a rising healer in the Houses of Healing that she would marry someday... But then she had loved Sijason and lost him... and the War of the Ring had erupted in earnest. The least important thing on any ones mind was her marriage... and her own passions had been set far aside.
For a time Lothiriel had thought that maybe, just maybe the Houses would be her only true home. Since the time of her severence from the sea and she had become a true lady of Minas Tirith. By then she was no girl, and a good deal wiser. Lothiriel had seen much of the ways of men by then, and so she counted herself lucky to be independent of their restraints. All she could hope for was survival from Sauron and the deliverance of those she loved in those grey times...
Yet now Lothiriel was a newly discovered prize... and the harsh reality that she was a political bargaining tool rocked her... Gondor's political bargaining tool... and she shouldn't be surprised, she shouldn't... she felt taken for a fool. And maybe she had been.
'Should I be honored, frightened, or defiant?' she wondered... 'Is this what I want?' Her world was still grey and confusing, lacking the knowledge she had once felt in her role as a high healer in the Houses. Lothirel didn't want tobe the shrinking violet in a field of wildflowers anymore... she had to find her destiny. But she would never give up her healing... Never... Certainly not to placate any man.
"Who is worthy of such political honor... if I MUST marry, my Lords?" Lothiriel could not keep the cutting sarcasm from her tone when she spoke at last. For she felt waylaid and undermined.
"It will be someone worthy of the House of Dol Amroth." Imrahil smiled, his eyes glittering.
'Has Aragorn been charming you with his deep praises of our House, father?' Lothiriel's thoughts flared sudden, and brightly resentful. Why should they have the only say when it came to her heart, to her future, her life?
Imrahil seemed to hear her anger. He looked at her, their eyes locking for a moment. "And someone worthy of you... my dearest daughter."
"You should know that we think Eomer King of Rohan is the best choice... We haven't yet broached the subject of a betrothal between you... but we believe he would be most willing," Aragorn's words faded in her ears and Lothiriel looked far off. She could not meet their eyes fixed upon her reaction...
Eomer. Once more should she be surprised? No and... yes. As always the Horse-lord brought with him an aura of powerful polarity. 'His wife... his queen... of Rohan and not Gondor...' Her life was swirling in eddies before her eyes and she could not contain the myriad threads slipping through her fingers. 'I have risen high and fallen low...' She wanted to laugh wildly in despair and triumph. The man she had lusted after, the man who had intrigued her and terrified her with his changability could be hers...? 'And I would be his...'
Lothiriel shivered and forced her mouth to say: "It would be a unique situation indeed if Lady Eowyn and I were to switch places."
"Gondor will lose a capable healer and fine noblewoman. But Rohan will earn itself a healing Queen," The Kings intent words drew Lothiriel's eyes up to Aragorn Elessar's face, a persuasive face that seemed to caress her at that moment with warmth, understanding and knowing. A face made for dispelling even the most unruly horse, even if that horse was the stubbornly proud King of Rohan.
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The footsteps whispered like water, and the scent was the freshest blossoms of spring... Lothiriel blinked back the tears in her eyes as she sat near the fountain and perceived something more than the water. A figure approached as lovely as grace itself... and it was thus that the elven queen, Arwen Evenstar strode from behind the fountain and took hold of her hands as Lothiriel started to lower her body and curtsy. "No need, Lady Lothiriel," Arwen uttered in a melodic tone.
"I have only come to speak with you as a woman to a woman. Men... even my husband are not always best at times like these." Arwen gently released Lothiriel's hands and the two women sat down side by side.
Lothiriel couldn't help but smile ruefully. How true were the Queen's words!
"I trust you are not too shocked or hurt by these recent proposals that would take you far from here... We are not wanting to exile you, Lothiriel. But we all believe you will serve a great purpose in Rohan. The Eorlingas were broken, devastated by war, famine and the treachery of Saruman. They need to rebuild. They need a healer... a wise woman capable of helping Eomer king in his future efforts. He need YOU, Lothiriel... and no other woman could be more qualified at this time."
"But am I the best woman for Eomer king... to have as a wife? I do not know everything I could about Rohirric customs. What if his people don't approve of me? What if I am imposing? I cannot bear that... we need a mutuality, a common focus and purpose... but I do not know..." Lothiriel paused as the Queen beheld her.
'I don't know If I can help Eomer...' Lothiriel couldn't quite speak these words out-loud to Arwen, but she remembered clearly how the bright sun would emerge from Eomer's countenance and then just as quickly disappear behind a storm-cloud. 'He is triggered by me... especially in the fact that I am a perceptive healer... He doesn't want to be healed because he is too resentful and heartbroken...' By who or what Lothiriel could only guess. But the Eorlingas were people of stone and warmth, as excessive as they were subdued... Bottom line... Eomer was a man who did not desire the weakness of being SEEN... And Lothiriel often saw too much for her own good. It deeply worried her.
Certainly the Rohirrim could take care of themselves. Lothiriel shrugged. Eomer may object to this idea of a betrothal and marriage. Perhaps he was already spoken for. And while Lothiriel knew what Arwen was saying... her heart and her head couldn't match. Maybe when she saw him again she would know if there was any possibility of deeper emotion... of love, reliance and comfort...
For some reason as she looked back into Arwen's astute, gem-like eyes... all Lothiriel could think of was the image of another elf... Legolas. 'How will I feel to leave my friend... this newly vibrant friend of my heart?'
What would Legolas think if she rode deep into the heart of the North? Gone were the past discussions of a healer's sanctuary in Emyn Arnen... No, her future was changing... And maybe, just maybe her true destiny awaited in the cold plains of the Mark.
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Faramir tried to clear his head from his recent meeting with Lothiriel... unlikely but explicable. His cousin had just told him of the new political plans to marry her to Eomer king... and while Faramir was surprised, he saw a universal clarity and jest to the situation. 'So it is thus we merge with the Eorlingas...' he smiled weakly at his thoughts as he approached the pillared archways that led to the recessed apartments where Eowyn lodged. The sun was sinking in that high blue sky... dissolving into the mysteries of night.
He looked forward to seeing his betrothed, as Eowyn had given him plenty of conundrums to figure out today. Testing her steel to steel had been a worthy challenge, one both exhilarating and unnerving. But his true questions arose from Eowyn's countenance after their sparring session and the intense dream he now remembered... he had a sense that something was yet to be shared between them...
He sighed and as a maidservant let him in the building his eyes swept the foyer. Eowyn came striding into the antechamber, followed by the young Eorling warrior that had accompanied her to Minas Tirith. "Great! You're here my Lord." Eowyn's eyes sparkled with grey light, her appearance no longer disheveled from fencing. "The food just arrived, so your timing is good."
She put a hand on Faramir's forearm, and he took her other hand. "This is Fenbel," she said as they turned, introducing the muscular Eorling man. Faramir and Fenbel bowed and exchanged courtesies but as Faramir walked into the adjoining dining room with Eowyn he couldn't help but think the man had been sent to hawk-eye their activities. To his profound relief, Eowyn shut the embossed door soundly behind them.
"I'm glad the banquet was cancelled tonight at the Citadel. I think I needed a calm night tonight." Eowyn sat at the table and gazed at the dishes of food spread out on the tablecloth. Simple yet hearty things like roasts and stewed vegetables and herbed breads.
"I'm also a little tired tonight, I admit." Faramir smiled and surreptitiously observed the shifting planes of Eowyn's face as he spoke.
A grin arose in her face as she felt him observing her. "After earlier..." There was a spark in her tone.
"It makes sense," he finished with a wry laugh as she curved her eyebrow and nodded.
They made small-talk over dinner, but afterwards as they relaxed Faramir brought up his memory of the dream...
Eowyn's grey eyes widened as she recalled... Then she told him in halting tones that she had also had such a dream...
"It was a starnge nightmare," she said sternly, almost inwardly.
"Maybe." Faramir looked at his hands. "But I see it differently, as a representation of your indomitable spirit. And Eowyn... I know how you reconcile constantly what it means to be a Lady and a warrior..."
She met his eyes, but she did not smile. "The White Lady and the Shieldmaiden," Eowyn uttered. "It is true that this my identity." She paused. "I fear I can't be the normal wife to you Faramir... because of who I am. I hope you understand how unique our circumstances are. But I hope I will bring to Gondor what I was unable to bring to Rohan."
"I understand all this, Eowyn. Know that you can always confide in me. My father always thought I was different than the traditional 'norm' as well... perhaps we can build upon that which we lost in the past."
Eowyn leaned forward as he put a hand on her arm. "You're not lost to me, Faramir," she whispered, reaching up and cradling his face in her hands. "You have the strength I need..."
"You are also strong."
"I try," Faramir leaned forward and kissed her as she spoke with a bone-deep sigh.
"You do more than that."
When he pulled away he felt reconciled to their shared abilities, their shared pain. They could see so far into these often inexplicable voids... He hoped. Faramir realized that knowledge was the one thing he truly coveted...
"Tomorrow Lothiriel has something important to tell you..." he remembered in a cold flash, rubbing his beard and looking up into the intensity of Eowyn's eyes.
"And what is that, pray tell?"
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Faramir could not accompany Eowyn and Lothiriel on their horseback riding sojourn the next day, but Beregond could. And he escorted the women out to behold the white bridges and structures of Osgiliath, now being rebuilt after the orc's destruction near the shining river, Anduin.
The three riders watched the progressing construction awhile with obvious pride, but then the women turned away and Beregond realized that Lothiriel had something to discuss with Eowyn. He followed quietly, happy to be with them, but saddened by the abnormally pinched features of Lothiriel's face and filled with poignant thoughts every time he beheld Eowyn's golden head and those eyes that could so quickly switch from angst to joy to sudden fire...
Something was changing... Beregond could sense that their lives would not remain in this state of normal status quo...
"My brother?" He felt more than observed Eowyn's pause at Lothiriel's words, snatched away by the breeze. "Eomer...?' Eowyn repeated.
He saw Lothiriel nod deeply and look once to the North. Eowyn said something and then they silently gazed to the North...
After awhile Beregond rode up beside them as they reined in their horses. He was curious, but kept silent, noting the women's thoughtful mood. Lothiriel wore russets not far from the bay color of the mare, Garnet, that she now rode. She was swathed in fabrics to block the wind but it also swathed her features. She was intentionally keeping everyone at bay... he realized.
Eowyn was merely pensive, her forehead creased and her hands expertly adjusting the reins as she settled Windfola's restlessness. Beregond's heart leapt as she met his eyes. "The uncanny turns of life..." she murmured, leaning towards him confidentially... to whisper in his ear over the wind.
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Eomer king rode into the White City on a fair July day surrounded by his men and filled with boisterous energy even if they had come to deliver his deceased uncle back to his homeland in the Mark. But Théoden would have wanted to return to their revered land, to the barrow-fields of their ancestors... and Eomer wanted more than anything to give him this last honor.
As he prepared for festivities and merriment in the Hall of Merethrond, little did he know that that he was walking into a nest of hornets, some tamely comforting but some also shockingly disruptive to everything he had known this far...
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A/N: This one was shorter but there IS much more to come! Amicable feedback always appreciated... (its not too much!)
I may not always be able to update regularly... it will be unruly and unpredictable, but I'll try!