Chapter 8

The sun was westering by the time her shift ended, and she was tired to the bone. She enjoyed the exhaustion – this was good, honest work, and as a princess, she rarely got any. Her fatigue, however, did not excuse her from dinner. Despite the accident with the Orcs, King Elessar still seemed determined to carry out a full, seven-day Gondorian celebration of Éomer's visit.

Lothíriel had to change quickly, and even then, she was late for the dinner bell. Her father gave her a hard look when she approached the table just as the first course was being served, but no one else seemed to notice. She rubbed her injured arm for emphasis to gain her father's sympathy, but by that time, he had looked away.

She noted again that she was sitting next to Éomer. How her father kept pulling these strings was a mystery to her.

Erchirion was sitting across from her, cheerfully chatting with Éowyn and Faramir. He looked normal except for the large bandage wrapped around his forehead. Her hand trembled at the thought of the battle, and she put down her knife to keep it from clattering against her plate.

The food that night was especially good, as Lothíriel was very hungry. There was roast duck, turnips cooked in wine and butter sauce, and even –she was sure it was her father's ironic idea—baked swan. The skin of the bird crackled and popped, as it had come right out of the oven, and when Lothíriel bit into a piece, the juice of the meat filled her mouth.

Her favorite of the dishes were the summer greens, which were dressed with all kinds of fruit. Pieces of strawberries, grapes, and oranges sweetened the crisp lettuce and spinach, and she found herself going back for seconds.

The King of Rohan was in a jovial mood. He jested with King Elessar and poked fun at his sister. He drove her to laughter many times, which seemed to please him.

"There will be dancing after the meal," he said, turning his blue eyes toward her. "Will you be so kind as to save a few, my lady?"

The feasting was putting even Lothíriel in a good mood despite what had occurred this morning during her shift at the Houses of Healing. "A few, my lord?" she said teasingly. "Well, that depends on how well you dance. I shall grant you my first, but you will have to earn the next few."

Éomer's eyes glittered in the torchlight, and Lothíriel thought she could see her own reflection in their clear, bright blueness. Around them, the conversation went on, the musicians continued to play, but for a moment, it was as if they were in their own world. "My lady has seen right through me," he said with a smile. "I thought that I would be able to get by on my good looks alone."

The princess gave an unlady-like snort. "If you always rely on that, you will find, one day, that it will fail."

The man smiled wider, taking a sip of his sweet wine. "Looks I may lose as the years go on, but will you not agree I will always have my charm?"

Lothíriel mirrored him, taking a sip of her own wine. It was absolutely exhilarating to have someone to flirt with this way, especially someone with a tongue quick enough to match hers. "Everyone knows that the man who toots his own horn is just full of hot air," she retorted.

Éomer laughed out loud at that. "Are you always this cruel to men, my lady?" he asked. "I am lucky to not be run through by that sharp tongue of yours!"

"You do not have a blunt one yourself," she retorted. "I am only parrying your blows!" Their conversation continued this way, quick, easy, and light-hearted. The princess realized she had truly found her match in wordplay, and she could not have been more delighted.

When it came time for dancing, she gladly shared her first dance with the Rohirrim King, who, again, showed that he was an agile and graceful man despite his size.

The two would have continued dancing and quipping at each other all night had one of Éomer's captains not stepped in.

"Excuse me, my lord," the man bowed low from the waist. He, too, had yellow hair, but his eyes were green. The man appeared a few years older than Éomer, and while tall, he was still a hand shorter than his king. "May I ask Lady Lothíriel for a dance?"

"Of course, my lord," she answered, as was appropriate, and curtsied, though she had no idea who this man was.

Éomer, on the other hand, allowed his eyes to roll heavenward. "My lady, this is Captain Éothain of the Mark, Marshal of the Eastfold and Warden of the Riddermark. He also happens to be a good friend and a constant annoyance."

Lothíriel caught a glance that was exchanged between the two, but could not decide what it meant. The king, however, bowed to her and left her alone with his friend.

"It is good to meet you, my lord," she said as she curtsied to the beginning of this new dance. She recognized him as the man that sat next to her during her first dinner with Éomer.

"Aye, and it is good to meet you, my lady," the captain replied. He held out his right hand to formally invite her, and they were off. The dance was a moderate tempo, permitting the two to talk, though Lothíriel found it slightly awkward now that Éomer was not there. Still, she was a princess, and that meant she had to facilitate such social situations.

"How long have you and King Éomer known each other?" she asked. "He mentioned you were good friends." She turned into the twirl that Éothain held his right hand up for, stepping closer to the man.

"Since we were lads," the man replied. The two now clapped once to the beat and stepped in such a way that their backs were to each other. They then stepped to opposite sides and came together once more. "I have known my Lord Éomer since he was a boy of thirteen—I was eighteen at the time and already a Rider. I met him when he tried to sneak on a ride with us. He was successful and killed his first Orc on that ride."

Lothíriel was turned by the man so they could promenade—his hands were on her waist and guiding her wrist as they whisked about on the dance floor and came only inches from the dining tables. She was quickly finding that while Éothain was a good dancer, he lacked the gentleness of Éomer's touch and was rougher in his lead. "A boy of thirteen!" she exclaimed. "How did he escape notice?"

He was now facing her again, and they advanced—he walking forward, she backward. "He was already a big lad then, as tall as most men," he answered. His handsome face was unreadable. "Hidden under a helm, he could have passed for a rider." He paused as they continued to dance. "I have been looking out for him ever since."

Lothíriel tried to smile, but she could not help feeling that she was getting swept off her feet—Éothain was advancing quite quickly, and she could barely keep up her backward step. "A wonderful tale of friendship, my lord," she returned, beginning to pant from her exertion.

Just as suddenly as the captain had begun his advance, he stopped and dipped her without warning. Lothíriel nearly fell back, but he bent too, catching her.

"I still look out for him," Éothain said. It was just as well, for his line had covered up the muffled sound from the back of her throat—a stifled scream from her fright at the fall. The man's face was only inches from hers. "And I protect him from anyone that would hurt him. Anyone."

He emphasized his last word, and in a moment, pulled Lothíriel to her feet again. It was again time for her to curtsy, and she did so on shaky legs. "O-of course," she replied. Words were lost on her, as she could not shake the feeling that Éothain had meant "anyone" to be her. "It pleases me that my lord Éomer has someone as loyal as you to protect him," she recovered. "But, surely, there is no one here that would wish your king harm."

The man smiled blandly at her as he bowed. "Surely."

Lothíriel did not speak for the next few moments as they danced, sure that the captain, for some reason, did not like her. Thankfully, he began the next segment of conversation, and this time, his tone was neutral.

"My lord Éomer has spoken of you quite a bit in the past few days," he said as they went for another promenade.

Lothíriel blinked in surprise. "Has he?"

The captain allowed the words to hang in the air until they turned to face each other once more. "Yes. Especially when my lady supposedly fought off two Orcs, both twice her size. That must have been a difficult day for a princess."

Lothíriel wanted to blow out her breath and stop dancing with this fine young captain, whose words did not seem to reflect his thoughts. Why was he so interested in her? And really, if she was interested in Éomer, what then?

"It was," she said, her voice slightly harsher than she wished. There was a silence between them, then, and when Lothíriel turned back to curtsy once more, she thought his expression seemed almost sympathetic. "I am sorry," she said. "It is silly of me to complain of just one such event when you spend your life fighting those creatures."

Éothain bowed as they continued their dance. "It is not 'silly,'" he said. "I have seen those creatures kill grown men, trained to fight. What you did was not a small task, my lady."

If she had not wanted to back out of the conversation before, she desperately did now. "Please," she said. "I do not wish to speak of such things. I know that the threat of Orc raids are still high in your lands, but the fear of that fight is still too near for me." She turned about, walking behind the captain and dancing as they spoke. "Forgive me. You must think me a coward."

"Nay," Éothain said as they came together. "I think you brave and beautiful. You must have many suitors here in Gondor."

What was he getting at? Why was he so strange in his conversation? Lothíriel almost wished she was dancing with Lord Belegorn so as to avoid this captain. "No," she admitted. "On the contrary. My father would have me married on the morrow, but I will not have it so."

The man raised an eyebrow. This was clearly not the answer he was expecting. "You mean you do not wish to be married? Or perhaps the right man has not come along?"

Lothíriel could not help but snort. The brusque way of the Rohirrim, both in their king and this captain, seemed to rub off on her whenever she was near them. "Perhaps the first," she answered. "Perhaps the second. All I am aware of is that I am not ready to be married."

"Never have I heard that from a woman," Éothain said, and for the first time, she saw a genuine smile on his face.

"There is a first for all things," she spoke quietly. She saw her opportunity, at that time, to turn the questions on him. "And what of you, Captain Éothain? This conversation has been woefully one-sided. Are you married and have you any children?"

Though the captain seemed slightly taken aback, Lothíriel could tell he was pleased to speak of his family. "I am happily married, though my wife did not ride with us, for she is with child. Our first." The princess was sure he seemed to stand a little taller at the mention of his wife and child. It made her smile—too often, she had heard her brother Elphir complain of his "chains" keeping him from drinking and celebrating with his brothers and his men.

"Congratulations," she said genuinely. "Has she said if she knows it is a boy or girl? Sometimes women in Dol Amroth say they can—"

"Yes," the captain said, understanding her meaning. "There are midwives in the Riddermark that do so as well." He looked her in the eye and smiled again as they danced. "I have said to all those who wish to guess the sex of my child to take their quackery elsewhere, for I shall be happy as long as my wife and child are healthy."

She began to wonder if she was going to like this captain after all. "The most important things," she replied. "I am glad that you are aware of them. Not all men are so wise, you know."

Éothain bowed once more as the song came to an end. "I am glad I pass my lady's test," he said. Lothíriel smiled again, but another thought passed through her mind as she did. Did I pass yours?

"Since I enjoy your company so much, will you dance another bout with me?" she asked, surprised even at herself. This was the first time she had ever asked a man to dance—something that would have sent her governess swooning. Even Éothain seemed slightly taken aback, but at this point, she did not care.

Why should men be the only ones who get to choose their dancing partners? She thought to herself, then immediately stopped. This hero thing with the Orc-slaying was getting to her head. Because she had killed two Orcs, did she now think she was a man?

"Of course," the captain said, breaking her train of thought. He held out his hand, and they began a slower song that forced them to dance closer together. They were quiet for a few moments, which allowed Lothíriel to study the man. Éothain was tall, though not as tall as his liege lord, and broad of shoulder. His green eyes were piercing and held behind them a great intelligence that Lothíriel could not fathom. "How do you like my Lord Éomer?"

The question caught her off guard—it was quite blunt, even for the Rohirrim. "How do you mean, my lord?" she asked carefully, wiling to give nothing away.

"I mean exactly that," Éothain's gaze cut through her like a knife, leaving no room for bluffing.

Her mind turned to the kiss she and Éomer had shared only the night before, and she blushed, almost believing the captain could read her thoughts. She turned away, but they both knew that Éothain had seen her reddening cheeks. "Well enough, my lord," she said quickly to divert her thoughts.

She probably looked like a right idiot, blushing the way she did before this Rohirrim soldier, but this thought only made her blush harder.

When she dared to look up, she saw a strange expression on the captain's face. "Be careful, my lady," he said, his voice low. "King Éomer has not had much luck with women." She furrowed her brow without realizing what she was doing.

"I do not appreciate your implications," she said, her voice becoming cold. Éothain had completely overstepped his bounds as a friend and courtier and was positively hinting at her and his king's personal life.

The captain's expression became unreadable once more. "I apologize, my lady," he said, bowing. "I did not mean to offend, only to speak the truth."

But Lothíriel had heard enough. She could understand concern from friendship. She could even understand dislike for herself, but she could not excuse obvious breach of personal respect. "You assume too much, my lord captain. It would be wise of you to take more caution when you speak." She had stopped dancing, and she could feel eyes beginning to turn on her.

Quickly, she stepped away from the man and moved to her place at the high table once more. Thankfully, the seats around her were mostly empty, as their occupants were now busy dancing. She did not wish to speak to anyone at the moment, so hot was her anger burning within her.

Who does he think he is? The thought raced through her mind. Does he think the Rohirrim King and I lovers? Why? And does he mean to scare me away form his friend? Of all the meddlesome things to do!

She fumed silently, crossing her arms as she stared at the half-empty wine glass before her. She remained there, brooding on the conversation she just had.

Hope you are all enjoying the fic! :) Please leave me a review with your thoughts!