Chapter Four: Within the Great Hall

Interruptions. Loud laughter. Slamming of fists on wooden tables. Drinking to success.
Thus described Gondor's Great Hall. There was an immense table stretching from one side of the room to the next, and above the table were great windows in the ceiling that drew in great heaps of sunlight. The dwarves were complaining about the light, the elves were nearly glowing in it, the humans were indifferent, and the Hobbits were quite happily smoking on their pipes when they weren't jumping on the table to add their input. Gandalf sat at one end of the table, quietly watching the proceedings, while Aragorn sat on the other, waiting for the ruckus to calm.
"Did I miss anything important?" Eomer nearly shouted above the noise as he took his seat next to Aragorn.
"No," Aragorn chuckled. "We attempted to call for quiet, but no one could hear the call. We are simply waiting for this arguing to cease."
"It is to be expected," Legolas sighed from his place near the two men. "Under no circumstance can dwarves and elves ever seem to agree on any one thing."
"If this arguing doesn't stop, there is no way we will be able to assist Frodo and Sam," Aragorn frowned.
The doors to the Great Hall opened, yet no one heard them due to the noise. Legolas glanced past Eomer and Aragorn and then solemnly stood, regal and silent in the midst of havoc. His stand caused everyone else to take notice, and they too looked to the doors and then became silent, standing in respect. A woman stood there, dressed in a gown of blues and browns, her dark hair long and pulled back ever so slightly with twine. Dark green eyes skimmed over the others in the room and then rested on Eomer for a moment before the lady stepped forward, moving to take a seat from one of four empty chairs situated near the center of the table.
"I had not expected our help from Dol Amroth to bring their sister into this meeting," Aragorn mused, folding his hands together.
"It served to silence the hostility," Legolas smiled, watching as Lothiriel, flanked by Elphir, Erchirion, and Amrothos, took her seat, nodding politely to the males in the room.
"Is it even proper?" Someone whispered.
"We have a lady in our midst! Cheers!" Merry proclaimed, pulling his pipe out of his mouth for a minute and grinning at Lothiriel.
"You'll pardon us, but in our culture, the royal women have always been the best in politics," Elphir spoke for his family. "It is tradition for us to bring a woman into every political discussion."
"And a wise thing, sir," Aragorn bowed his head slightly. "She has served to silence the raging army within our very walls. My thanks to you, Princess."
Lothiriel nodded politely as everyone took their seats, and then Gandalf stood again, his wise eyes gazing over the audience that awaited him.
"Frodo and Sam are yet alive with the ring, making their way surely to Mordor. As you know, Sauron will have his eye on them every step of the way, unless we provide a distraction. As has somewhat already been discussed, we are to make our way to the gates of Mordor on the morrow. Aragorn will lead us, as he is the leader of mankind at this point in time. This is your final opportunity to leave, to withdraw from this fight, and no one will think the less of you. You have been asked to take your greatest men to the heart of the dark war, to, quite possibly, give up their lives for a worthy cause. I can think of no worthier. This is the final offer for you to leave. Does anyone want to refrain from this battle? Nothing less will be thought of him."
There was silence through the whole of the room. All eyes were focused on the great wizard, and he, in turn, looked to each pair of eyes that gazed at him. There was tension in the Great Hall, and yet no one stirred or balked from it. Everyone had come too far to leave now; had sacrificed too much to leave now.
"Good," Gandalf spoke after the moment had passed. "Go to the night, gentlemen. Enjoy your time with your wives and your children, for it may be the last night you shall have with them."
The noise immediately began again, and Lothiriel rose with her brothers.
"I would that my wife were here. For now, however, I intend to make my way to the dining hall," Elphir sighed and then looked to his brothers. "Where will I be able to find you both in the morning?"
"My chambers. There was a lovely maid that caught my eye on the way here," Erchirion winked before leaving the room.
"I'll be with you, taking my fill of drink. It's mad men that are going to be going against Mordor tomorrow," Amrothos nodded to Elphir.
"Very good."
"What about me?" Lothiriel asked, taking hold of her eldest brother's arm.
"Lothiriel, you can do as you please. We will see you again in the morning," Elphir smiled tightly before kissing his sister's forehead and leaving her.
The princess' heart sank. Her brothers were to go to war in the morning, one that sounded greatly like suicide, and yet they were leaving her alone for the night. Silently, the woman left the room full of arguing men and made her way towards her chambers. She smiled slightly when she saw a young elven woman fling herself at Legolas, and the Elf prince returned the woman's embrace. The elves were wise in that they resisted foolish pleasures before the night of a battle. Eomer was wise as well, Lothiriel noticed as she moved through hallways. She caught sight of the Rohan warrior embracing his sister, holding her close and comforting her before they parted ways for the evening.
Lothiriel did not want to go to her chambers. Her heart was too heavy to stay alone with her thoughts on this night, and she found herself wandering through the halls and rooms. She could hear laughter and loud talk from the dining hall in the far distance, and it served somewhat to lift her spirits. Two of her brothers were there, drinking and having a good evening before they went to battle. If the men could enjoy themselves on what might possibly be the last night of their lives, then perhaps she should follow their example in her own way.
Like a shadow, she made her way out of the buildings and alleyways, walking towards the White Tree. There was a full moon tonight, illuminating the guards that stood near the special place, and it made the tree itself nearly glow from the light. Lothiriel hadn't had a chance to gaze on the tree yet, and so she took this time to study its twisted form, thinking deeply on the meaning of the life form before she moved away from the symbolic icon and, with light footfalls, moved to the very end of the precipice where she could look out on the great Pellanor Field where only days before a brutal battle had occurred.
No traces of the fight were left. Nothing stretched out before the princess but fields of grass that rustled in a gentle night breeze. The stars and moon shone down on the land, illuminating every feature, and it nearly stole Lothiriel's breath away. She breathed in deeply of the fresh air and then turned from the scene to find Eomer standing several yards away, also looking out across the fields, though there was a solemn expression on his admittedly handsome face. He had not noticed the princess, and his arms were folded across his chest even as the breeze toyed with his blonde strands. He looked so very far away, so pensive, that Lothiriel could not help but move towards him, concerned by his solemnity.
"Lord Eomer?"
Eomer shook himself and turned his head to greet the princess as she moved to a stand next to him.
"I had thought you might be inside, spending your last evening before battle with company," Lothiriel spoke softly.
"I prefer to spend such time in contemplation."
"You seem troubled."
Eomer studied the woman standing next to him, noting her true beauty that radiated now that she wasn't in battle. Her eyes sparkled like the stars above, and she was concerned for him. He wanted to see her smiling, but understood that she could possibly be losing her brothers on the following day, and she seemed a great deal like Eowyn had been before she met Faramir. She wanted to be out in the battle, close to the ones she loved, not hiding away hoping to stay safe. If the men failed in their fight against Sauron, there would be no hope left for the women and children. And the men needed strong leaders to bring them into such a fight...
"What is it?" Lothiriel asked quietly.
He didn't understand how he could speak so easily to her when he was usually quiet and reserved with others, but his tongue loosened, and words slipped past his lips smoothly.
"I am the king of Rohan. The burden of my responsibilities is difficult for me. I cannot afford to fail my people. If we fail tomorrow, all of the widows and fatherless children are going to point a finger at me, whether or not we survive."
"You have no new burden. Your people have always looked up to you," Lothiriel said, venturing to put a hand on his broad shoulder. "They will think highly of you regardless of what happens."
"You have great confidence in me."
"You need it. And your men need you, Sire," Lothiriel curtsied low. "They are in the dining hall, no doubt wondering where their king is."
Eomer bowed his farewell and then made his way to the dining hall, though his mind was far from merriment and spending time with friends. Theoden had wished Eowyn to become the sole leader of Rohan after the battle at Pelennor, but the former king had believed that he and all the other Rohirrim were to be lost in battle. Now that Eomer had survived, Eowyn had desired that her brother become king, for she had high hopes of aiding the newest steward of Gondor as he began his care of the people. Never had the leader of the Rohirrim even considered becoming Rohan's king, for there had been his cousin, and Theoden, and hopefully the lineage would have continued from there.
Recent events had shown, of course, that things rarely, if ever, went according to their original plan. As it was, there was much planning to be done, planning that Eomer had hoped he would never have to participate in.
"So foreboding, good king," a deep voice interrupted, and Eomer glanced down to see the dwarf, Gimli, looking up at him with shining eyes. "Have we not already won one battle? Eh?"
"It is not the battle that troubles me, friend Gimli, but the war," Eomer said deeply.
"Dark days we find ourselves in," Gimli mused. "But for the time being, a feast and celebration. Think not on the morrow when the night is young. The rum still froths, the company still laughs, and the food still steams."
"Ah, good dwarf," Eomer grinned, "it is encouragement to me to see how cheerful you are, for indeed, I believe you have lost more than I have."
"Perhaps, but I have gained brothers and friends, things that are not to be taken for granted," Gimli smiled broadly. "To the night, Lord Eomer, soon to be crowned King," he cheered, raising a mug frothing with beer.
"To the night," Eomer smiled.

And yet he could find no rest. Even when the men had retired to their chambers late in the night, the leader of Rohan could find no solace. He spent numerous minutes tossing and turning in his bed, and after a profound failure to track and capture sleep, he rose from his pallet and pulled a shirt and riding trousers on. He pulled a loose jacket on over his shirt and then left his room, making his way to the barn, wanting to find peace in the only way that he knew how.
The horses were asleep, but he could hear Firefoot waking as he entered the barn and walked towards his horse.
"You remember a time of peace, my noble steed?" Eomer spoke softly as he groomed Firefoot's shining coat and then placed a bridle over the horse's head. "A time when we would ride through the night when all the palace was asleep and had no fears to trouble us?"
Firefoot snorted quietly as his rider swung up onto his back and then exited the barn, riding through the darkened streets and paths of Gondor. Shadows loomed from every building, foreboding and dismal, and Eomer longed for the star-lit fields of Rohan. The fields of Gondor were vast, but they were still splattered with blood, devoid of rain to wash it away. There was no where to let Firefoot run, no where to enjoy pleasant company, no one to talk to, and even if Eowyn had not been deep in sleep, beloved as she was to him, Eomer did not know that she could have comforted him at the moment.
A figure moved ahead of the horse and rider, an image in a dark brown dress, her long hair pulled back into a single braid, and a smile tugged at the corner of Eomer's mouth. It seemed that the Princess Lothiriel had not been able to sleep either and had found herself in the streets. He could see that she was staring up, gazing at the cloud-covered sky, her hands arms wrapped snuggly about herself. Perhaps she was cold. Perhaps she was afraid of the oncoming events. Somehow she still managed to look regal and composed. She heard the hooves approaching her and turned her head, smiling sheepishly as Firefoot came to a stand before her.
"My apologies at interrupting your evening, my lord," she curtsied.
"Perhaps it is I who interrupted yours," Eomer bowed his head. "Seeing as neither of us has seemed to find tranquility on our own, would you care to ride with me?"
"Ride with you?" Lothiriel blushed. "I don't know, my lord. Would that be indecent?"
"It would be more frowned upon were I to leave you here alone," Eomer chuckled, holding out his hand to her. "You have been on a horse with me before."
"Yes, but as a man," Lothiriel breathed uncertainly. "We were in battle. Here, one might assume..."
"My lady, I may have but one day left to live," Eomer smiled. "It is too much to ask that you ride with me for my last few hours before battle?"
"You are most insistent, Lord Eomer."
"You are most evasive, Princess Lothiriel."
She laughed, a musical sound that pleased Eomer greatly, and she placed her hand in his, letting out a small yelp of delight and surprise when he pulled her up behind him. Her hands went to his shoulders, but as soon as Firefoot began to walk, she wrapped her arms tentatively around Eomer's waist, knowing that a light touch to his shoulders wasn't going to keep her atop the horse. There was an earthy smell radiating from his neck, and to her private delight, Lothiriel found that it was comforting to her. It relaxed her and all thoughts of the upcoming battle evaporated into the night air.
"I miss Rohan," Eomer spoke tentatively. "The green hills call to me from so far away."
"I miss the ocean of my home," Lothiriel nodded. "I understand how you feel."
"Your brothers seem to be good men. I believe they will survive the upcoming battle."
"My father will be joining them in battle. It is him that I fear for. He did not come to the fields of Pelennor because he was preparing his kingdom for his death. He joins the men at Mordor tomorrow believing that he will not survive. I am afraid for him. My brothers have permitted me to follow behind the army."
"I beg your pardon?" Eomer frowned, stopping Firefoot and turning to gaze at the princess.
She was closer to his face than he had thought. Her eyes were a brilliant green, something he had only somewhat noticed from a difference, and while they had a gentle look to them, they sparked with a raging fire of playfulness and spirit. When he had first seen the maiden in a dress, he had assumed that she was the gentle and quiet sort, a type of woman that he could appreciate but that didn't appeal to him. Now, however, he could see a playful grin tugging at her mouth and her eyes were aglow with mischief. Now, he remembered the warrior on the battle field that she had disguised herself as, and for a brief second, he felt himself to be superior to her.
"You disapprove, Lord Eomer," Lothiriel stated, craning her neck back so that she wasn't directly in his face.
"A woman should not go to such a battle. I realize that you and my sister were great warriors and necessary fighters on the fields of Pelennor, but Mordor is enemy ground. The Orcs there would not think to fight you, but to either kill you or harm you."
"I am to go as a medical assistant, should the occasion arise," Lothiriel smiled. "I will be out of the battle. None of the other women are permitted to go, and I am certain that some of you soldiers will need the attention of a nurse."
"Is there nothing that you cannot do?" Eomer exclaimed, and Lothiriel laughed, her eyes merry.
"I cannot ride horses. I am terrible at the art of sewing, much to the dismay of my father. I loathe needle work of any sort, and gossip bores me. There are many things that I cannot do, my lord. I know every position of a battle field and every duty of a man on it, however, and I can use this knowledge to assist armies. It is what I like most to do."
"You do not enjoy the company of other women?"
"Not so," Lothiriel shook her head. "I do, indeed, sir. However, I was raised in a house of men, and it is with men that I feel most comfortable."
"Has a suitor been found for you, at this time?"
Lothoriel glanced down, staring at the stitching on Eomer's jacket, and he turned his head forward, ashamed of himself for asking such a question as he urged his horse forward. It was none of his concern what her future was. He had only just met her. Somehow, having saved her on the battlefield gave him an emotion of loyalty towards her, and he was curious about her future.
"Truth be told," she spoke a few minutes later, her voice soft, "I was originally intended for King Aragorn. His heart belongs to another, however, and it would break my own heart were the mattered forced, for he greatly loves the woman of his affections."
"It was not my question to ask, my lady. I apologize."
"And you?" she asked boldly, holding her head high. "Do you have a lady love, sir?"
"I have not," he shook his head. "As of only a short time ago, I believed myself condemned to remain away from my homeland, destined to roam about the earth forever on horseback with no place to call home."
"And now?"
"Now I have become its king and am to fight for out on the morrow."
"I wish I could give you the comfort that I feel. All will be well, King Eomer. I feel it in my heart."
Both riders remained silent as they rode within the solitude of the horse barn. Lothiriel slid off Firefoot's back and watched as Eomer did the same. She marveled again at his height, for she had to tilt her face up to look at him.
"I greatly appreciate you spending your time with me, my lord," she said softly. "Surely you could have found the attentions of a woman more interested in pleasing you before you go to battle."
"I enjoyed your company, my lady," Eomer smiled, putting Firefoot in his stall and taking the stallion's bridle off before he came to stand before Lothiriel again. "I had not thought that I would wish to spend my time with another person. You were a pleasant exception to my thinking."
"Be safe in battle this day," Lothiriel spoke gracefully, with the elegance of the princess that she was. "And do hope you do not think your time with me to have been in vain."
"I am honored to have been in the presence of another great warrior," Eomer bowed, not a touch of humor to his voice.
Something stirred within Lothiriel as the horseman stood at his full height again, and she dared to reach out and place her hands over his.
"My prayers go with you, my lord."
She stood up quickly on her tiptoes and ventured a soft kiss against his cheek before turning and walking back into the castle, her dress trailing regally behind her.
Eomer stood in silence for several minutes more, wondering at the rapid beating of his heart and the warmth that flooded his veins. He had been kissed before, multiple times by admiring women, but this gentle kiss had been different. It had been a kiss of protection, and he felt an invisible shield wrapping itself around him as he returned to his chambers and drifted into a dreamless sleep.