Chapter 19

Lothíriel barely heard King Elessar congratulate Éomer, Orodreth, and Erchirion on their victories. Éomer had turned his attention respectfully back to his competitors as they received their prizes. As per tradition, no monetary prize was given for the first tourney of the season, but winners would receive ribbons and automatic admission to the next tourney.

Erchirion and Orodreth bowed low to King Elessar after receiving their ribbons. Then, it was Éomer's turn.

"You shot well, Éomer King," Aragorn began. "There is no doubt in my mind that you would prevail, having fought alongside you." He leaned forward and handed his friend the large, blue ribbon. "I hope you will be able to join us for the next tournament."

As he leaned forward, Lothíriel saw his eyes travel to the light blue kerchief that was tied to the top of Éomer's bow. It could be taken for nothing other than a lady's favor, and she thought she saw the corner of the Rohirrim king's mouth quirk up.

Arwen, too, had stood to congratulate Éomer. "Whatever lady has bestowed you her favor has certainly given you luck this day, King Éomer," she commented. Her perfectly poised expression gave away no hints that she knew exactly who had given him the kerchief.

Lothíriel could feel a cold sweat out on her brow. Was she ready for the rest of the world to know about how she felt about Éomer?

She looked toward the man, and in a moment, their eyes met. She became acutely aware that she was sitting next to Elphir and her father. The Rohirrim king looked back at Arwen, then. "You are right, my queen," he said slowly. "And that luck comes from my Lady Lothíriel."

Lothíriel felt as if a whole minute of silence had passed after Éomer made his statement, though in reality, there must have only been a moment. He looked once more to King Elessar and Arwen before nodding in respect to the rest of the nobles in the viewing box and turning his horse to return to the field.

Slowly, around them, the nobility and peasants alike began to get up from their seats and move about. The tourney had ended, and the audience was eager to get back to their daily lives and discuss again and again what had happened. After all, this was one of the most exciting things to happen in the city since the War.

In the shuffle, Lothíriel caught her father's gaze.

"I believe you wanted to speak with me?" he asked. His expression was neutral, and Lothíriel could catch no obvious sign of approval or dismay that she had given her favor to the King of Rohan.

She nodded once.

"I will come to your chambers after supper. I must return to my meetings with the Lords of the Council first," her father replied blandly. "See you both at supper."

With a node to Elphir, he was gone.

Lothíriel made the mistake of looking over toward her brother as she also turned toward the exit of the viewer box.

"A favor for the King of Rohan and a talk with Father?" Elphir inquired. He was smiling a bit too smarmily for Lothíriel's liking. "Am I to expect a marriage proposal within the week?"

She swatted at him, annoyed. "Two completely unrelated events," she retorted. She thought for a moment. "And I thought you would be delighted. After all, you and Father have been trying to get me married off for months."

Her brother snorted as they made their way to the exit, amidst the other nobility and their ladies in waiting. Lothíriel purposefully kept her head down and voice down, knowing that Elphir was just voicing what was now doubtlessly spinning in the rumor mill all about Minas Tirith. Tomorrow, or even later today, depending on what else was interesting in court, everyone would have heard of it.

"You certainly could not have done better," Elphir commented. "I am surprised Father is not wild with joy right now."

She rolled her eyes. "Thank you for your approval. I was so seeking it."

Her brother scoffed as they stepped from within the box into the bright afternoon sun. "Well, you are not Queen of Rohan yet. Do not act so high and might!" He dodged out of the way before Lothíriel could hit him again.

After a short nap, Lothíriel found herself mired in the Dol Amroth books again. This time, however, she did not have Éowyn to accompany her, and so she was left to the number juggling and her own thoughts.

The application to the Houses of Healing sat on her desk and seemed to stare at her, as if awaiting her decision. She had been in such haste this morning to submit it, but now that sleep had cleared away her adrenaline and brazenness, she was having second thoughts.

Sending the application would definitely mean her father finding out about everything. And even if she were able to persuade her father to let her join the Houses of Healing, she would still have to be approved by the healers there. No one had ever heard of a woman becoming a healer.

And if, in the slightest chance she were accepted as a healer's apprentice, it would be five years that she would have to stay in Minas Tirith. Five years without seeing Éomer…

She tried to shut that thought out of her mind and focus back on the numbers before her. Do not be stupid, she told herself. Do not place meaning where there is none. Of course, she liked Éomer. But that did not mean anything. As Elphir had put it, it was not as if she were the Queen of Rohan.

At supper, she was again seated close to Éomer. He smiled when he saw her, and she could not help but smile back. She had selected a midnight blue gown with silver trim that highlighted the blackness of her hair. The dress was cut so that it accentuated her waist, and she wore her hair down partly because she could not be bothered to put it up, but also partly because it was newly washed and shiny.

She was ashamed that she had agonized about what to wear for over forty-five minutes, hoping to find something Éomer would like.

He was just as handsome as usual, wearing a gray tunic with matching leggings. Instead of tied up as it had been during the tournament, his hair was neatly strewn about his shoulders, and his beard trimmed.

Lothíriel was dimly aware that the rest of the hall was filled with people, but she only had eyes for Éomer. She barely even took notice of Éowyn, who was seated to the king's right, and she definitely did not remember what she ate. There was something completely magnetizing about his presence, and she could not shake the feeling of exhilaration every time she was around him.

"My lord Éomer, I have not had the opportunity to congratulate you on your victory this afternoon," she said, inclining her head. "You shot well."

The man gave her another smile. He was seated to her right, and was almost completely facing her. Éowyn, who was having a close conversation with her husband, did not seem to mind, but Lothíriel was dimly aware that had it been anyone else, this would have been rather rude. She did not particularly care.

"Perhaps it was simply that I had luck," he state. He had not returned her handkerchief, and Lothíriel suddenly wondered where he was keeping it. It made her embarrassingly happy to think of him holding onto it and keeping it somewhere secret and safe.

He leaned in closer to her, and his next line was spoken in a hushed tone. "I hope it was alright that I said that… at the tournament." His face had become serious, and Lothíriel thought she could see a searching look in his eyes. She realized that he was seeking her approval, and swallowed.

"It was," she answered quietly. She felt her breath come short as the distance between them closed. She remembered, then, their kiss, and wondered, briefly, what it would be like to kiss him again.

"Lothíriel, I was serious when I asked you to come to Edoras with me," he said, his voice still low. "Please consider it."

She breathed out slowly at Éomer's words and looked into his eyes. She wanted nothing more than to spend more time with him, to see the green hills of his childhood that he had described to her.

In another world, where she was not Princess of Dol Amroth, she would have agreed immediately. But such as it were, she looked down once more at her plate. Have you forgotten about the Houses of Healing?

The intrusive thought seemed to come from nowhere, and it, too, snapped her out of the dreamy situation that she was in. All around her, the conversations of others at the dinner table seemed to wash over her. Reality was quickly enveloping her, pushing her down from the clouds.

She was Lothíriel, Princess of Dol Amroth, and her place was in Gondor. As much as she wanted to, she could not go traipsing off to another country simply because a man had asked her too.

"Éomer, I live here," she said slowly. "My family lives in Gondor, and they need me to help rule our city." She looked up at the man then, realizing that her voice was trembling. "I… I have never left Gondor."

The man's jaw tightened, and he looked down as well before clearing his throat. "Of course, my lady," he said, his voice suddenly formal. "It was unfair of me to ask."

What had he been thinking? Lothíriel had made clear her hesitance to leave her homeland when he had asked her the first time. Why did he continue to pester her? And really, how boorish it was of him to invite a princess of another country to Rohan when he had not made known his intentions. It was not as if he had proposed marriage, which, really would have been the only acceptable reason to invite Lothíriel to Edoras without her family.

But asking her to marry him was also ridiculous.

He had only known the woman for a few days, after all. He also respected her too much at this point to trap her in a marriage to himself. She was a Gondorian princess, accustomed to the fineries and traditions of Gondor. She would have none of those things in Meduseld.

His uncle, Théoden, had never been a man to live lavishly, and Éomer had carried on that way of living. What he had, he shared with his people.

Not that he could have lived lavishly even if he wanted to. Rohan was almost destitute after the War. He could not subject Lothíriel to that.

It would be altogether dishonest.

It was best that he stopped seeking out the princess and taking up her both her time and his.

But even if his goal was to find himself a rich wife now to sustain his people, no one else had caught eye quite as much as the princess of Dol Amroth.

Éomer had grown quiet after she told him that she could not go to Edoras, and she was not sure how to cheer him up again. She had not meant to offend him. Surely, he must know how it would look if she left her family to go to Edoras with him?

They had only known each a week!

His new silence annoyed her, and as soon as supper ended, she left her place to go back to her chambers.

He is much too arrogant to think that after talking to me for a few days that I would leave my whole life for him! she thought. She was angry and annoyed, though she was not sure if she was only angry and annoyed at Éomer, or angry and annoyed at herself for caring so much about this issue.

I should be focusing on applying to the Houses of Healing and not on Edoras or Éomer! She decided once more. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, as if to wash away all thoughts about the man. As if I have nothing to do but drop everything and follow the first man that shows me any attention.

With that, she almost stomped into her chambers and slammed the door.

Too late did she realize that her father was sitting at her desk, calmly perusing the open scroll that was her application to the Houses of Healing.