Happy Thanksgiving!

I hope everyone had a restful few days. Here is the new chapter. Once again, I appreciate all the feedback, and would love your reviews!

Chapter 15

Lothíriel retraced her steps back to her quarters on the seventh pinnacle, still clutching the parchment in her hands. She desperately needed sleep, but she could not stop her mind from thinking back to Éomer.

He had asked her to come to Edoras with him.

She had never been anywhere other than Dol Amroth and Minas Tirith, let alone a different country. Leaving Gondor seemed quite the adventure, and she had never thought of herself to be someone that would have such an adventure.

Yet, her heart fell when she thought of Éomer leaving Minas Tirith without her, and she could feel a deep ache in her chest when she thought of the possibility of not seeing the man.

What is wrong with you, Lothi?

She followed the steps back up to the citadels on the seventh pinnacle. The steps were wide and long, and at the very top at the tall white doors were two guards, their helms gleaming in the morning sun.

Before she could re-enter, she saw a familiar figure exiting the citadels. Just above her on the steps was Éothain, captain of the Mark. On his back were several short bows and multiple quivers of arrows.

He noticed her at the same time that she saw him.

Valar above, why now? She could not help but grind her teeth in irritation. She immediately thought back to their one and only interaction on the dance floor on the first day that the Rohirrim arrived. She was not in the correct mood to talk with the meddlesome captain.

However, Éothain seemed in jolly spirits. "Good morrow, my lady," he greeted her with a smile and a low bow. "You are up quite early this morning."

She inclined her head at the man, willing herself not to show her vexation. "Good morrow, captain," she said. "You, too, are up early. And with quite the assortment of bows." She raised an eyebrow, indicated the mass of weapons on his back.

"Ah, yes," the man smiled. "My lady has been absent at suppertimes. You see, there seems to have been some…" he paused as if searching for the right word, "… friendly competition between the Rohirrim and Gondorian soldiers about which country produces the best bowmen. It culminated in King Elessar agreeing to a small contest."

Lothíriel raised an eyebrow. While tourneys had been quite common when she had been growing up, there had not been an sort of jousting or archery competition in a long while in either Dol Amroth or Minas Tirith. There had been no need. Every able bodied man that could wield a lance or a bow had been needed for true battle.

Times of peace, indeed, she thought to herself.

"As captain of the guard, I have been tasked with bringing the bows so that there can be no question of tampering with them, so to speak," he said, now grinning. "It is to commence at noon. Will you come and give your favor?"

The princess hesitated for a moment. One part of her would have liked nothing better than to spend an entire afternoon outside with her friends, but another part of her reminded her that she needed to figure out how to break the news to her father that she wanted to go to Rohan.

She must have hesitated too long, for Éothain's smile faltered. "I hope that my lady is not deterred on my account," he said, his brow furrowing. He paused before continuing. "I must apologize for what occurred during our last meeting."

Lothíriel raised an eyebrow. She had not expected the man to be so forthcoming. "It is quite alright," she said. "Forgive me, for I had already been preoccupied that night."

"Nay, it is I who should apologize," the man said, bowing low. "You see, Éomer and I are good friends, and sometimes I meddle too much in his affairs when I should not. You could also literally say that I was raised in a barn, and my manners are not fit for court life." He gave a small smile at that, as if he had his own internal jest.

Lothíriel had an alarming picture of a small, blonde Rohirrim child running naked with the foals and sleeping in the straw of a dirty barn. She could not help but give a small laugh at that image. If anything, Éothain had known better than anyone else what had been happening between herself and Éomer. "I accept your apology, my lord Éothain," she said with a bow. "Though you judge yourself too harshly. The king of Rohan is fortunate to have a friend such as yourself."

Éothain smiled. "And the people of Dol Amroth are fortunate to have a princess who is not afraid to speak her mind," he added smoothly.

It was not a usual compliment, as Lothíriel was much more used to hearing about her charm or her beauty from the men around her. However, she decided that she rather liked this compliment more, as it commented on her personality rather than her looks. "Thank you. Let us be friends, then?"

The captain offered his hand to shake, and Lothíriel took it. "Friends," he affirmed, his grip strong. "But now that you have professed your friendship, my princess, I must insist that you come to this shooting competition and give me your favor."

He smiled then, and Lothíriel could see how a young a handsome captain like himself probably had sway of many of the ladies in Edoras. He was not used to being denied.

"Very well," she said. "I shall be there. Though first, I must speak with my father this morning about another issue. I will see you there, captain."

Éothain bowed low again as she walked past him through the gates.

Before she could see her father, she asked her maid to draw her a bath and found herself a change of clothes. She also placed the application for the Houses of Healing on her desk for later.

When this was all done, the sun was already high in the sky. She had miscalculated how much time she had needed to look presentable, but decided that she needed to speak to her father before noon.

She found him in his study, where he was sitting at his desk, a pile of parchment stacked in front of him. He drank deeply from his mug of tea, which he held in his left hand, as a large quill pen was in his right.

Next to him was another man about the same age, standing over him and pointing at another piece of parchment.

Prince Imrahil was not an old man, but Lothíriel could see the steaks of gray that were at his temples and his beard. Though his back was straight, and his steps still quick and deliberate like a man that was much young, the lines around his eyes were beginning to deepen.

"Father?" she gave a soft knock at the door before entering.

Both men looked up at her entrance.

Her father greeted her with a smile. "Lothíriel!" he said. "I have not seen you much of late, my daughter."

The other man looked up, and before he could control his expression, he gave a small frown. Lothíriel felt her stomach do a flip. Of all people to face, standing here with her father was Lord Pelendur, father of Belegorn, who she had very rudely rejected just a few days before.

He was a tall man, broad of shoulder, and his gray hair was strewn about his shoulders. He was wearing a travel-stained cloak, which finally jostled Lothíriel's memory. Pelendur had not been at the feasting the few days prior, as he had been traveling, but she could not remember well.

"Good morrow, Lord Pelendur," she said, as she sank into a curtsy.

No doubt, Belegorn had told his father of her lack of decorum, and she wondered if Lord Pelendur was now telling her father.

"Good morrow, my princess," Pelendur returned, his tone only short of icy because Prince Imrahil was there.

"I have been busy," she said to her father as she walked toward the two.

"You have been too busy in the libraries and the Houses of Healing to join us at supper?" her father chided gently, unaware of the tension that was now in the air. "You must remember that we have guests, and as a host, you are expected to greet them and entertain them."

She smiled. Her father knew her too well. "I will be there tonight," she promised. "And I also promised Captain Éothain that I will be at the archery competition that is being held today at noon."

She gathered from the lack of lecturing that Pelendur had likely not yet told Imrahil about her misdeeds at the feast.

"Ah, yes," Imrahil nodded. "There was something about a competition between the Rohirrim and Gondorian soldiers a few nights back about shooting. Speaking of the Rohirrim, Lord Pelendur has just returned as Gondor's ambassador and advisor in Aldburg. He had heard of King Éomer's intent to come to Minas Tirith, and had hoped to catch him, but was too late. He was just telling me that there has been trouble in the Eastfold."

Lothíriel hesitated.

She desperately wanted to ask her father about going to Rohan with Éomer, but realized that this was not the time. She did not need Pelendur hearing about her plans, or to witness an argument between herself and Imrahil.

"Yes, and the news is quite urgent," Pelendur said, stepping forward, closer to Lothíriel. "I am afraid that we have business to discuss, and it is not appropriate for the ears of womenfolk."

The condescending tone of his voice made the princess bristle. She certainly knew where Belegorn learned his scorn of women.

But, knowing that it was impossible to get this man out of this room, she decided to relent and gave a small bow. "Of course, my lord Pelendur," she said, her voice dripping with saccharine. "I am certain that your news is much too important for women like myself to understand."

She could see a frown beginning to form on her father's face. He knew her too well to fall for her sarcasm, though by Pelendur's satisfied grunt, she knew that she had fooled the other man.

Imrahil, however, turned to face the ambassador. "Pelendur, you may speak freely in front of my daughter. She was, after all, the one who ruled Dol Amroth during the War of the Ring, and continues to be a great help to me in this transition period."

The other man's opened his mouth as if to argue, but quickly shut it, realizing to whom he was speaking. "Of course, my lord," he said, bowing his head once more. "I did not mean to imply that Princess Lothíriel would not understand the matter at hand, only that some of it may shock her."

Nicely saved, she thought, unable to keep the sarcasm at bay.

The lack of sleep was making her even more bold.

"Father, I do wish to speak to you regarding another matter," she said, becoming serious. "Though, it seems that now is not a good time."

Imrahil looked back at her. "I am sorry, Lothíriel," he said. "Any other time, I would put aside the work, but Pelendur, too, is a busy man, and we had agreed to meet at this time."

Lothíriel nodded. "I am sorry to intrude," she said. "Perhaps after supper, then."

Her father smiled at her. "I shall come to your chambers," he said.

She curtsied at both men before turning to go.

However, before she stepped out the door, she could hear both of them shuffling papers and going back to their conversation.

"As I was saying, my lord," she overheard Pelendur say. "The Eastfold has not rebuilt. They have been repeatedly attack by rogue Orc bands."

She unintentionally slowed her footsteps at the news, her hand pausing on the doorknob to the study.

"Much of the lands of Rohan now lay in ruin, and many of its people have fled to the cities, like Aldburg and Edoras. The cities are overrun with poor, who can do nothing but beg in the streets. If my men are correct in their deduction, Edoras has no more reserve to help them. The people of Rohan are starving, and Éomer can do nothing."