A/N: It's a long boi. Lothìriel has a mind of her own and she more or less took over in this chapter. I know in the previous chapter it was very Eomer/Lothìriel centric but we'll get to see some more Dol Amoth family shenanigans in the next chapter. Anyway I hope you enjoy this one, I kind of wanted to just explore Lothiriel and see how I wanted her to compliment and contrast with Eomer, but mostly because I wanted to write a character who may not have been as affected by the war as others but still had to pay a price. Those little details will become more apparent over the next chapters.
Chapter Two: Salt
When Lothiriel first lay eyes on the young King she wasn't quite sure if her brothers were lying or not.
He certainly looked like a King, all golden rage and warrior boldness. But she had seen the quiet grace of Aragorn and the immense weight the crown burdened on the once-lithe ranger. Éomer just seemed so young, paralysed by the realisation of his new station. And unapproachable if she dared say. Well, it wasn't as if she was afraid of a challenge.
But they had also said that of her. She didn't seem like a Princess of Dol Amroth, they had said when she took her father's seat during the war. She was too young, too flighty. She had been that cheeky girl who had nothing better to do than haunt the merchants and fishermen of Belfalas as a child.
And she had spent all her time running wild, for her there was no denying it. Her days as a girl were spent waking up with the sun and swimming in the waters near the palace, then after a sound reprimanding by her nursemaid she would attend her lessons (if she hadn't already snuck out of them), then after a brief lunch spent with her brothers and father it was an archery lesson with aforementioned brothers. After soundly beating her brothers in archery she was then wrangled into a bath, forced at sword-point (or at least it felt like it when old Saerwen threatened her with no dessert) to do her needle work, and then finally supper.
Her routine had hardly changed for the last nineteen years but now it seemed like a lifetime ago. She still rose with the sun but up until her father returned half a year ago she had barely touched the sea. The second she opened her eyes it felt as if correspondence and reports were already bombarding her. She sat upon her father's sandstone seat listening to complaints and remedying them with answers, and thankfully the answers came easy with all her years running around. Saerwen had noted with worry that her gowns were fitting looser and looser and that her eyes were dimmed in fatigue. But still Lothiriel carried on in her duty. Rest was the privilege of those with less responsibility than her.
Her father had made her Princess of Dol Amroth the moment the Haradìm had begun their incursions upon the borders. With her brothers managing their own companies of Swan Knights abroad, Imrahil had decided she had run around Belfalas for long enough. She managed trade and imposed sanctions upon Harad as their allegiances became more well-known, the policy was met with some success, though it lessened the amount of spices and silks entering The Bay by a small margin, the Haradìm were forced to stop entering their lands unannounced if they wanted their highly lucrative trade to continue. Other policies, such as changes to succession and inheritance was met with some resistance by the small council. But some persuasive diplomatic words (and some inventive language) later the new ruling went through. After all, they were at war, what use was only letting sons inherit if they were all dying at the hands of Mordor?
From what Lothìriel had heard Éomer was in no easier position than she had been (and still was, her father still handed her the trade portfolios). With a war on two fronts and the crops of the Westfold razed by the Dunelings and the forces of Isengard smashing upon the walls of Helms Deep as if ocean waves, well, she hoped the man was getting sleep. Her new cousin had regaled her with many stories of her brother, but mostly Eowyn had warned her that he was a man of few words and trusted very few. Lothìriel could understand, after all he had lost nearly everyone.
So it was with the kindest smile she could possibly muster that she greeted the King as he arrived in the palace for today. He looked lost and confused, his great size dwarfed in the airy expanses of the palace (which was no mean feat), but upon making eye contact with her decided he would walk determinedly in her direction.
"Princess," He made a very neat bow and she observed the velvet green of his tunic and the brown cape draped carelessly over his left shoulder looking annoyingly dashing. Éomer was of a sharper face than his sister, his strong brows and cropped beard much deeper than the honeyed blondes of his long hair. But what stilled her breath was the warmth of his dark eyes, how deep they seemed but also how bright in the mid-morning sun.
"Éomer King." Lothìriel returned his bow with a deep curtsey, "Please, just Lothìriel, you protected my family upon the battlefield and I am eternally indebted." The look of slight protest but rapid relinquishment that crossed his face spoke more than his soft noise of acknowledgement. Perhaps he wasn't a man of many words as Eowyn said, but if one knew where to look his thoughts were there.
"My father is not yet home," Lothìriel spoke, breaking the brief silence. "Perhaps I can show you around the city? Father is out visiting some of the islands and won't be back until supper. He's taken Amrothos and Erchirion with him and Elphir is escorting his wife to visit her family in Lossanarch."
"Has my sister arrived yet?" He voice was filled with quiet concern but also of longing to see his beloved Eowyn again.
"Yes, she and cousin Faramìr arrived a few days ago." Lothìriel said, her own joy colouring her town. She motioned for him to follow her into the gardens. "Your sister has told me a great many things about you,"
"It's all lies and slander!" Éomer defended himself so quickly that she couldn't help but laugh. She turned around to face him and upon seeing the tops of his cheeks and the tips of his ears turn pink she tried to smother her amusement. He looked so concerned and embarrassed that it was just simply endearing, especially for someone of his height.
"No, I can promise you she was nothing but kind," she quickly assessed him as her next thought formed at the edge of her tongue, "Though I didn't make any promises not to embarrass you about your archery."
Éomer sighed a long-suffering sigh of a brother with a much-trying younger sister. It was a sound she had heard from each and every one of her brothers. Erchirion especially for she never seemed to stop bombarding him with questions. Perhaps the worst case was when she asked her brother at the tender age of five about where babies came from. From there it was the most amusing game of pass-the- inquisitive-child until poor cousin Boromìr did his best to keep a straight face and satiate her knowledge. Valar bless his soul, but he couldn't never quite look her in the face from that point on.
She missed him. He had always brought her dolls and had once gifted her with an archery set for her ten year-old frame. It was Bormoìr who had thrown her into the air only to catch her again, carried her through crowded streets upon his shoulders, played tea-parties (usually with Faramìr in tow) with. He was always so kind and protective of his brother and his cousins- as if their entire childhoods could all be defined by the eldest of their cousins. And now? Now he was far away beyond any of their reach. To hear him laugh just one more time, the memory of it made her heart ache.
"It was one time and I only shot my uncle in the foot," The King of Rohan grumbled, though not without some small amount of laughter in his voice at the memory. Eowyn barely spoke of Theoden, save that he was a kind man and a strong one who fought off the poisons of Saruman until his last. But beyond that she knew barely anything. With Éomer it was different, his voice betrayed memories of a family she wished to know more of.
"Apparently that's tantamount to treason in the Riddermark," Éomer's brows shot up in surprise at the fact she referred to Rohan as The Mark rather than Rohan as Gondorians were wont to. She continued to lead him through limestone corridors and heavy doors until they reached the southern portion of the palace where walled gardens overlooked the ocean. "Perhaps I should be dangling you by your toes naked over the walls?"
"My lady I think that would traumatise your people more than it would mortify me." Éomer quipped dryly though his face softened considerably when he noticed the white-clad woman sitting by the walls, observing the gentle undulations of the waves as they crashed upon Belfalas' golden sands. Without waiting for a word he crossed the small distance as if he could barely believe his eyes; that his sister was here, that he was no longer alone. He held his sister tight in his embrace and in that instance Lothìriel felt as if she was intruding upon something.
With a final glance at the reunited siblings and Éomer's wondrous delight at the news of his impending Unclehood, she withdrew from the gardens.
Gondorian gossip would have it that Éomer was a lion lashing out at its cage with his anger. But in that briefest of meetings Lothìriel had decided that of all men he had suffered enough. And if it meant making fool of herself just to see him smile then so be it. As her brothers and cousins knew well, Lothìriel of Dol Amroth was not a princess to do something by halves. And that included being an idiot.
"Daughter," Lothìriel quickly put down her quill and rose to greet her father, import taxes and new trade routes could be put aside for him for a moment. Her father rarely ventured into this part of the palace where she preferred to work, Elphir often said it was because it reminded him too much of mother and that she looked far too similar to Meldawen for the Prince of Dol Amroth to bare the haunted expanses of gardens and terraces.
Imrahil was wearing a startlingly bright shade of peacock blue this morning and she did her best to look delighted about it as he crossed the marble expanse framed by towering columns of icy-covered limestone. Imrahil was not prone to very many fancies save battle and his robes. Perhaps she should bring up the cost his fripperies were having upon the purse…
If he even thought about needing another new blue (always blue! Why not red? Or yellow perchance?) tunic she would scream. But no, this was far too early for her father even by his punctual standards. This couldn't be good. She noted with some humour that her Amrothos really did inherit their father's worried face as much as the former would protest.
"Good morning father, I have drafts for the taxes ready as well as arrangements for Erchirion's new University." She winced internally doing the mental arithmetic at the funding needed to ensure her brother's harebrained scheme for better education was going to work. Though scholarly archives existed throughout all of Arda, an educational institution of this scale was something that was hardly seen since the First Age. But with the elves dwindling in number knowledge among the race of men was something that needed improvement. She had to admit it was a noble and much-needed thing but surely even rational Erchirion could understand that this should be attempted at a much smaller scale first.
"No, that's not what I was here for. Though I must admit you have been of much help." Imrahil placed a kiss upon her brow and held her at an arm's length as if admiring her. Lothìriel did her best not to squirm under his scrutiny- as loving as it may be. "My, you've grown so much."
"Not in height adad," She replied with a small huff of laughter as Imrahil playfully tapped the end of her nose. "Stop plying me with compliments ada, what do you need done? Is it Rothos? Do I need to wrangle the cats?"
"No, though I must admit a reprimanding of Sir Ràvo Whiskers of the Swan Knights Cavalry would not be amiss. He seems to be fond of tearing up my slippers." Her father sniffed in disdain at the adorable Royal Mousecatcher. "No my beloved trouble-maker, I need you to tour our guest."
Her brows furrowed, it wasn't like studious Erchi to just abandon his duties. "Éomer? Whatever for? I thought that was Erchi's job?"
"Erchirion is currently occupied with naval duties." Her father stated, though she noted it seemed to be with some reluctance. The only thing that ever stopped her lanky and unfortunately bearded brother from burying his head in the books was her father taking them aboard the warships. "And after all of your siblings you were the one who snuck away from lessons to run wild the most." Lothìriel considered that an achievement within itself as she was sure Amrothos had snuck off far more than she had. Surely Elphir had tried dodging arithmetic lessons for swordfighting more often than she'd escaped.
"Well alright, but I take no responsibility for any accidental diplomatic crises."
She swore her father twitched.
"Is it always so…" Éomer sounded unsure as he followed her along the sandstone-block roads, his head continuously peering about at different stalls and taking in how odd the buildings looked compared to that of Rohan's wooden halls. Lothìriel paused for a moment beside a small vendor's stall, it's fabric coverings a little worse for wear but still a recognisable shade of Dol Amroth blue. She turned around from the vendor, finishing handing him a small silver coin in exchange for a pair of warm scallop pies.
"Fishy?" Lothìriel hazarded a guess at the usual complaint most newcomers had to the harbour. The heady scent of salt, seaweed, and fish was something that took getting used to, but it was home. And much better than the smell of shit and spirits in Gondor.
"Cramped." Éomer admitted in a quiet voice. "I mean no offence,"
"No, of course you don't." Lothìriel looked about her, noting how close together the sandstone buildings were and at the sheer number of people running about the narrow street. Merchants were consistently hauling goods up and down the thoroughfare while children run about playing games. Women were purchasing goods and placing their groceries into the baskets that they rested against their hips.
There was something ticking in the back of her mind becoming clearer and clearer the longer she watched Éomer's face. His dark eyes tried to remain staring at the ground but it would uneasily dart around him, his tall frame appeared to be making itself somewhat smaller, his mouth pressed into a firm line. 'Oh', Lothìriel thought. Elphir could not stand to be in crowded spaces anymore either. She gathered that both Éomer and Elphir were haunted by the same dreams of the cavalry and the mass of destruction beneath the hooves of their mounts; that he could smell the blood and feel the crush of people around him as he battled forward.
Lothìriel had thought that the King was finally beginning to look more rested, damn her stupidity. He seemed to carry himself much lighter, he laughed around his sister and her brothers. He'd even had the heart to laugh at her more stupid jests. She could admit to herself that he was quite handsome to look at (she wasn't fond of deluding herself after all) when he wasn't so severe and almost…charming when he put his mind to it.
She had to fix this. Doing the only thing she knew she well: she acted without thinking, pulling his hand and guiding him through the city as best as she could, weaving around the milling citizens as expertly as one carrying two very hot scallop pies in one hand could manage. The tighter the cramped buildings seemed to her companion Lothìriel noted how much tighter his larger hand clasped around hers, as if she were a light house leading his boat back to shore in a storm. Every now and again the number of people around them increased and she would feel his tall form press against her, apologising profusely under his breath. She shook it off in small whispers as her feet led her closer and closer to the open shore.
Admittedly it felt different to have someone else with her. As a child it was usually Saerwen or Aunt Irviniel -whenever she cared to visit- that followed after her and made sure that nothing particularly untoward happened. As she got older the following stopped, mostly due to the small blade that Elphir had very wisely given her and bade her tie to her person. But this? This was a wholly new sensation. Despite the fact she was guiding Éomer, for the most part the afternoon had been a delight.
"We're nearly there, I promise." Lothìriel said reassuringly to Éomer, watching him nod uneasily. "I'm sorry I shouldn't have-"
"It's not your fault, your highness." His voice was more curt with than he had previously been. She felt as if she were struck, her heart sinking within her chest from her mistake. But still, she kept going, finally reaching the great expanses of dark rock platforms and golden sand covered sporadically in drying seaweed. Very few people ventured towards this end of the docks, save for those trying to access deeper pools of water within the Bay.
"Is this better?" Lothìriel probed gently, releasing a breath in relief as Éomer's shoulders relaxed. "I really shouldn't have taken you there,"
"No lass, it was enjoyable." Éomer met her eyes in earnest, his tone genuine. "I am too rough of a northerner to enjoy your ways."
"Not rough." Lothìriel searched in her mind for the right word. "Perhaps untried. If Erchi had his way you'd be emptying your stomach over the sides of one of his prized vessels."
"Aye, I'd consider that far worse torture- what is that?" He noticed the small, somewhat warm pastry that she had pressed into his much larger hands. She felt small scars and rough patches that were the hallmarks of a warrior of his calibre.
"Eat. It's a pie it won't kill you." She hoped she was reassuring and almost laughed at the small look of confusion that passed before Éomer's face.
Tentatively he raised the pastry to his face and took a bite. Judging from the small noise of content he had made the pie was as welcome as she could have hoped for. Lothìriel tried to ignore the tug of her heart at the sight of his sleeve balled up in his palm, wiping away at errant crumbs caught in his beard or the quick lick to his lip at the small drop of cream sauce.
So this was Éomer.
Not the King of a savage country as the courtiers had gossiped about, no, here was the ridiculously tall man who quietly made jokes and enjoyed pastries. The man who her brothers spoke highly of and his sister even more so. The man who defined his family by his rag-tag bunch of friends and that she hoped someday that she too would count in that number. Who held all his responsibilities to himself, too scared to let the burden hurt anyone else. Here in the open expanses of the salt-kissed beach he was at peace, but she yearned to see him truly at home in the wild fields upon a horse as he had so often spoken of.
Before Éomer even had a chance to thank her she knew that she was lost.
She wasn't sure if she was meant to be scared or excited by that fact.
A/N:Hey thanks for reading if you enjoyed please let me know and let me know if you have any suggestions and ideas 3 the next chapter is currently under progress (as are all of them) and will be up soon my dudes. And thanks for all the lovely reviews both here and on a03!