Candle in the Mist

by Mal3m

PostROTK. The sons of Elrond come to Edoras to help Rohan's king to defeat a troublesome new enemy. Tormented by his sister's choice, Elladan finds hope in the Lady he meets at the Golden Hall. EomerLothiriel and ElladanLothirieloften onesided

2. The Feast

         Title: Candle in the Mist

         Rating: PG-13

         Summary: Post-ROTK. The sons of Elrond come to Edoras to join forces with Rohan's king in defeating a mysterious enemy that has attacked his kingdom. Tormented in body and soul by his sister's choice, Elladan finds hope in the Lady he meets at the Golden Hall. No slash. Involves Eomer/Lothiriel as well as Elladan/Lothiriel (often one-sided or friendship).

         Disclaimer: I am not, and do not claim to be, at all associated with Tolkien, the author of the brilliant Lord of the Rings, whose characters I am borrowing temporarily.

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         Lothiriel gazed in the mirror searchingly as she adjusted the clasp of her dress. She ran over in her mind the various preparations that were to be made for the banquet her husband was arranging for the returning men. The kitchen had been properly informed, the hall was being made ready. She made a mental note to check on the status of the serving girls, who had the frustrating tendency to get distracted and silly when faced with a room full of appreciative men.
      

         The heavy bedroom door banged shut behind her, and she turned to find a half-dressed Éomer stalking hurriedly around the room, haphazardly grabbing a dark blue robe from his wardrobe and swinging it over his shoulders.
       

         She smiled. "Why the rush, darling?"
        

         He paused from his frantic search for the proper belt and grinned up at Lothiriel as though he had just noticed her presence.
        

         "I'm sorry, love. The men are pouring into the hall faster than expected. I had counted on family reunions to delay them for a good time while we prepare for the feast, but apparently many of them are not married and managed to head straight here upon arriving."
         

         The Queen sighed. A crowd of unmarried men. Just what the girls needed. She shook her head wearily. 'Well, let them have their fun. It is a time of celebration, after all.'
        

         Aloud she addressed Éomer, gazing at his reflection through the mirror. "Do you think this twist is appropriate?" she asked, tugging her dark hair back with a pearl studded comb. "Perhaps I should braid it that pretty way your sister did when she visited." She raised her hand to her head and nervously began to undo the style.
        

         Éomer grabbed her wrist in time to save the pretty 'do. "Lothiriel, you look beautiful. You always do. I beg you not to trouble yourself so."
        

         "I know you do." She leaned back, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder, as he brushed a gentle kiss along her ear. "I know I should be more relaxed by now. I just...I just can't help but feel like I stick out like a sore thumb at these affairs. I'm always sure my dress is all wrong for the occasion. Lythia does her best, but perhaps I should hire a Rohirric dressing maid after all? Perhaps that would do better?" Continuing to babble, "Of course, I've known Lythia since I was twelve, but I am a Queen after all. I must make sacrifices-"
        

         Turning her around abruptly, Éomer halted the stream of words, placing his lips solidly upon her own. Once he was sure she had been properly silenced, he released her, and smiled down in a bemused manner.
        

         She gazed up at him sheepishly as he began to speak, feigning frustration, "Now Lothiriel, I've told you time and time again not to worry!" His face broke out in a grin, and he wagged his eyebrows mischievously, "You are the most beautiful woman in this city, and every man out there knows it. I promise you: Their stares do not suggest indignation at your supposed poor choice in clothing. They are mesmerized by your beauty just like I was when I first laid eyes on you in Minas Tirith. Our folk are not used to dark hair or eyes, as you well know, and even your voice sounds of Dol Amroth, rather than Rohan." He paused to stroke her cheek adoringly. "Yes, Lothiriel, you are different, but I love you for it, and so does our kingdom."

         Silence reigned in the airy room for a few long moments as each took in solace the other's love, quietly holding each other, drawing strength from the bond that lay between them.
        

         "Mmm," Lothirirel murmured, her head buried in his strong chest, "What did I do to deserve this?"
        

         Éomer was about to reply with the same question, but before he could, there was a loud knocking at the door. After whispering one last message of reassurance to his wife, the king left the room to attend to whatever problem had arisen.




         The two brothers made their way through the winding streets of Edoras, keenly aware of the stares and murmurings that followed in their wake. In an effort to maintain some form of anonymity, the two slipped into the stream of men milling around the entrance of the city. Bodies crushed into them from all sides as men called to friends across the crowd, roughly jostling against each other in their excitement.
        

         Elladan and Elrohir shared a grin at the lively homecoming the riders had made. Returning to Rivendell had never been as chaotic. Even when the elven refuge had overflowed with residents, there had never been such a mad rush at the gates, that the twins had witnessed at least. Usually returning travelers would slip in gradually over a day or two, unnoticed by the general public, but normally recognized by Elrond, and of course their families.
        

         The two races did seem to share one tradition however: the celebration feast to honor their warriors. The banquet seemed to be on everybody's tongues in the streets of Edoras, and the disorganized crowd seemed in fact to be slowly, but surely making its way toward Meduseld.
        

         Having no need to mingle, the handsome pair headed swiftly toward their destination, arriving at its doors before many of the riders themselves. Still, a great many of the men had entered the hall, and were already making quite a din, noticeable from outside its walls, even to one lacking the heightened senses of the sons of Elrond.

            An anxious-looking man approached them and introduced himself as an attendant to the king.  Clearly a tad intimidated, the servant nevertheless led them inside graciously, bidding the twins to make themselves comfortable at a table that stretched across the hall.  Seeming to understand that they were not the average Rohirric rider, he informed the two that the King would be out to see them shortly, and hurried away to tackle his next duty. 

            "Hardly a welcome fit for the sons of Elrond," Elrohir remarked with a wry grin.

            Elladan shot him a knowing smile in return. "Father would not approve." His brother chuckled at this, but afterwards they were quiet for a moment, each lost in his own thoughts and memories.

            "Elladan! Elrohir!" In an identical motion, the two in question turned toward the source of the voice, a tall, muscular man whose thick blonde hair was tied back into a loose ponytail at the base of his neck.   He was approaching them quickly from their left through one of the hall's side entrances, which presumably led from his own chambers. 

            "My brothers!" He exclaimed, as he clasped them each about the shoulders, a show of affection somewhat disconcerting to the brothers, who normally maintained a rather aloof manner around strangers.  "I welcome you to Meduseld, though I must confess that I am curious as to your doings in this land." He smiled broadly, and added, "But naturally such inquiries will wait until after the celebration.  Please, I pray you, join my company at our table. We would be honored by your presence."

            After they had returned his greetings, Elladan and his brother followed the king to a dais at the center of the hall.  His table was situated such that, while it was adjacent to the rest of his men's tables, it was raised slightly above the rowdy crowd.   Already a few men and their ladies talked together around the table, looking up curiously when the brothers approached them.  Though they stood in respect for their king, their eyes were fixed on the two strange visitors.  Had they caught sight of the ears of the travelers, their curiosity no doubt would have greatly increased, but the brothers had purposefully arranged their dark hair to cover the conspicuous tips, desiring to remain as anonymous as possible, at least for a time.

            The two had discussed the matter as they had made their way to the Hall.  They had decided to request that their identities remain unknown to the general public of Edoras, both preferring to maintain the low profile they had become accustomed to in their latest travels.  Before the War, they had, for the most part, enjoyed the attention paid to them when it was announced that they were the sons of Elrond, Lord of Rivendell.  But times had changed.  Adventures in Mirkwood, exploration in Lorien, revelry in Rivendell: all had faded into their past.  Gone were those days of carefree merriment, and their status as Masters of Imladris meant next to nothing among Men, with the possible exception of the citizens of Minas Tirith. 

            Eomer stood beside them and introduced the brothers to the table. "My lords, I present my guests, Elladan and Elrohir, friends of the Rangers of the North.  They have come to Edoras unexpectedly, but I know you will welcome them as I have.  Perhaps Hygmeld here is already acquainted with them, for they rode with him and the rest of Dernwine's company when they faced this new foe.  I trust that later they shall tell us all which they observed in that battle. But now, gentleman, as you well know, is not the time for politics or war-talk.  I believe we have waited long enough," he remarked as he glanced around the crowded hall, "It seems the rest of the eored has finally arrived. I will instruct the kitchen to begin the courses."  He beckoned to a man who had been hovering around them for some time.  Soon the rest of the men found their way to seats and settled in for the feast.

            Surrounded by the carefree and exuberant men, Elladan found himself slowly unwinding, gradually releasing the tight control and rigid solemnity he and his brother seemed to carry naturally in such situations.  He unconsciously brushed his hand over his ears, and adjusted his hair around them, glancing down the table discreetly to see if anyone had noticed.  'Still,' he reminded himself after a moment, 'it isn't imperative that we remain anonymous, merely convenient.'  If, by chance, their identities were revealed, it was doubtful that it would cause a great commotion anyway.  Half the men would most likely be confused at the titles, and it wasn't as though the Rohirrim were unused to people of high stature passing through the Mark.  He knew that Estel frequently visited his friend King Eomer, as did Faramir, his Steward.  No, it was not their status that would concern the men of Rohan, were it known.  It was the twins 'strange quality' that most would remark upon, as Aldor had.  Clearly, it was the general belief that most elves had departed Middle-earth, and two of their kind appearing in Eomer's court would certainly arouse interest. 

            A servant bent over Elladan's shoulder then, gesturing to his cup and refilling it with a generous proportion of the amber drink.  Shaken from his contemplation, Elladan shook his head ruefully at the serious direction his thoughts had taken.  He leaned back, rolling his shoulders down to release any tension that might have remained, and made the firm decision to enjoy himself. 

            A grin tugged at his lips as he looked across the table at Elrohir, who seemed to be having no problem whatsoever fitting in with the rowdy men.  His rich tenor, too often busied with haunting melodies and tragic ballads, now blended with the coarser voices of the Rohirrim for a rousing rendition of a common, and somewhat bawdy, drinking song.  Where Elrohir had learned such a tune was beyond his knowledge, but Elladan wasn't overly surprised, for their travels had led them through many such gatherings of men. 

            The hall hummed with a crescendo of voices, which would occasionally dip back down into a calmer drone when a new course was served, and mouths were too occupied with food to sing or speak. Yet in spite of the outward appearance of contentment, Elladan could sense their underlying unease.  Their nerves were only just calming after the fierce battle and desperate flight.  And interwoven into their temporary relief was the unsettling assurance that the trial had only begun.  They were celebrating, true, but only at their reunion and safe return.  Victory had not been attained, defeat merely escaped.

         As hopeless as their situation had seemed, Elladan had been relieved to discover later that not as many men had fallen as he had guessed, only a relative handful had in fact been killed.  The riders had repeated the traditional blessings when all had been accounted for, and those lost were laid to rest.  A mourning period had indeed elapsed, but, as was to be expected of a group of seasoned warriors, their grief had not overtaken their senses or overpowered them to the point at which they could not carry on.  Forward they had marched, leaving behind a neat row of covered mounds safely tucked away in a sheltered grove.  The twins had shared a moment of wonder when they realized that several men had risked their own lives to carry out of battle one of their fallen companions so that their bodies were not dishonored. 

         Too often members of his own race do a disservice to men like these, Elladan had thought. Overlooking such valor and selflessness to dwell on the occasional greed and corruption of some was a mistake that had led many elves to look down on men as weak creatures who could only behave cruelly out of their own self-interest.  The race of men held a special place in Elladan's heart, as it did in his brother.  He was not sure if it was the strain of human blood that flowed within him or the frequent interaction he had with mortals or perhaps his special relationship with Estel that had caused him to develop such an attachment; most probably it was the combination of all such things.

         While most outsiders may not have guessed that anything was amiss at the banquet, Elladan's unique perception into the emotions of men showed him the truth.  Together, the loss of several lives and the expectation of further danger from an unknown enemy cast a vague shadow over the festivities. 

         He reached for his cup as he continued to study the people around him, but his hand had only made it halfway when a hush descended suddenly over his table.  Turning his head in confusion, Elladan watched as Eomer leapt to his feet to meet a small group of women approaching.   He found himself following suit as the rest of his dinner companions stood to welcome the new arrivals.  One in particular seemed to hold their attention, a dark haired beauty who stood regally in the midst of her blonde attendants.

         Eomer took her pale hand in his own, lifted it to his lips and said, "Welcome, my Lady." His eyes twinkled as he directed her to the seat beside him at the head of the table.  Once she was seated, the standing men and women took their seats as well.

            Elrohir caught his brother's eye, his eyebrow cocked.  Elladan nodded in return.  So this was Eomer's bride, the young daughter of Imrahil.  He vaguely remembered the Prince of Dol Amroth introducing her to the twins at the celebration of Arwen's wedding.  Whether it had been her or another maiden, Elladan could not rightly say, for he had been all too distracted that day. 

         His hand gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles whitening while he fought desperately against the onslaught of images that his previous thought had unleashed...//Arwen smiling, glowing as she ran to embrace her brothers, hindered only by a fatal grasp on her Beren's hand.  The new King of Gondor introducing his wife to his people.  The wild cheers that had erupted.  Only one corner of the palace had been silent at that moment.  It seemed that with every congratulation, every well-wish, their Evenstar was pulled from them, wrenched from their hearts in a veil of joy.  He remembered the strangled gasp that had escaped his brother as the two were joined, how his father's head had bowed, the single tear that had traced a path down the face of his grandmother.  He himself had been silent.  If his face was truly a mirror of his twin's, then he supposed that his eyes betrayed his grief, as Elrohir's had.  A certain teasing sparkle deadened within them//

            Jerking himself fiercely back to the present, Elladan sensed his brother stare and felt strengthened by his knowing look and the understanding it held.  Each was drawn from their intense connection at the sound of Eomer's voice addressing them.

            "My friends, please, allow me to introduce my Queen, Lothiriel, daughter of Imrahil of Dol Amroth."

         He addressed his wife.  "My dear, these are the visitors I spoke of who traveled with our eored and generously lent their skill to our men in the battle." He followed up this explanation with a meaningful look, and moments later her eyes widened in understanding.  She gazed up at the brothers in newfound awe, studying them as if to detect any sign of irregularity. Clearly her husband had shared with her their background beforehand, but neither twin was surprised or irritated at such intimacy. 

         She soon recovered her posture, though, smiling demurely and expressing her pleasure at making their acquaintance.  While each of the brothers felt it only proper to stand, to do so seemed awkward with the King and Queen seated, so they refrained and merely nodded in deference.

            Soon the royal couple became absorbed in separate conversations, playing their role as hosts to perfection. To one side, Eomer spoke animatedly to an older looking man, seemingly an elder advisor of some sort, but evidently a close friend as well.  For her part, the Queen enjoyed the company of a young lady seated beside her.  While her companion, a decadently dressed girl with light blonde curls piled atop her head, chattered on, Lothiriel sat calmly, responding now and again with a nod or an "I'm sure."

            At first Elladan was put off at such behavior, but upon further observation, it became clear that her relative quiet was not a mark of snobbery.  He was well acquainted with conceit, he had witnessed it on many occasions from members of every race.  Lothiriel's eyes were not icy or taunting, she was not indulging the girl, nor was she scorning her.  No, indeed her gaze sparkled with interest and her laugh was as genuine as any Elladan had ever heard.  She seemed to truly enjoy the girl's company; it simply wasn't her style to interject a comment for the sake of speaking alone, or worse, for the pleasure of hearing her own voice.

         Time and time again, his gaze was drawn to her throughout the night. While his brother partook in the merriment, Elladan remained seated, absentmindedly sipping his mead. His face was unreadable, the slight upward turn of his lips suggesting that he was simply enjoying the drunken men's raucous singing. His thoughts, however, refused to leave the fair lady at the head of the table. She seemed to light up the room, as one of the few females in the hall.

         At the moment the queen was laughing quietly at words her husband whispered to her. The elder son of Elrond watched, his eyes fixated on the couple, as Eomer softly brushed her ear, tucking a dark lock of hair behind it and gently running his finger down the side of her neck. She smiled at him, her grey-blue eyes brimming with affection, and as his eyes met hers the two seemed to be speaking through their stare, communicating on a level that even Elladan's keen perception could not decipher.

         It was a marriage of love, then.  Not the political alliance he had once privately labeled the union.  Their actions were familiar to him, though initially he couldn't quite place the feelings they evoked.  A careful study of their figures, however, quickly revealed all he needed to know.  His father had been dark-haired, true, but nonetheless the picture before him was achingly reminiscent of a childhood spent observing Elrond's interaction with his wife.  The Master and Mistress of Rivendell had enjoyed the same quietly intense mutual admiration as the King and Queen of Rohan apparently did. 

            As his fork brushed against his plate, Elladan glanced down in surprise.  His stomach had clearly had more wits about it than his mind.  Without realizing it, he had finished off the hearty meal, as had most of those at his table. 

            Though Eomer's voice was admittedly laced with that pleasant open-ness that only drink could provide, he still spoke authoritatively as he said, "Well, men, I believe serious talk must be delayed until morning.  Those of you involved in the day's conflict will be wanting rest, no doubt, sooner rather than later.  In fact, I believe now is as good as time as ever to bring this night to a close."

            The king's announcement spread through the hall in moments, and slowly the riders raised themselves to their feet and began to trickle out of the hall back to their homes.

            Soon Eomer turned his attention back to his guests.  "Here, friends," he spoke, addressing Elladan and Elrohir first, "Allow me to fetch someone to lead you to your rooms.  Where did that man go?" he trailed off, eyes searching the room for the missing attendant.

            "Eomer, I will show the brothers to their rooms." The Queen's lilting words interrupted, her small hand touching his shoulder.  "I was preparing to leave anyway, and you must stay to speak with Erkenbrand."

            "Mi'lady," Elrohir interjected, "We do not wish to trouble you unnecessarily.  Surely we can find our way alone."

            "I assure you, it is no trouble," she replied, her eyes still trained on Eomer's indecisive face.  Finally he nodded, pecked her cheek lightly, and bid good-night to the twins.

            She faced them with a smile, dark locks spilling over her bare shoulder.  The deep cerulean of her dress set off the cream of her skin and depth of her eyes.  Eomer's affections seemed to be truly well-placed, if a man were to judge by outward appearance alone, though naturally he must not. 

            "It is not far," she said, swishing past them and beckoning the two to follow. 

            They made their way through the scattered groups of men who still lingered, all of whom rose and bowed their heads as Lothiriel passed.  Occasionally she would turn her head to look at Elladan and Elrohir, only to face frontwards once more if either met her gaze.  The brothers exchanged a bemused glance.  Her shy curiosity was not unusual for a mortal who knew their race. 

            She soon stopped mid-way down the hallway by a thick door of mahogany wood, its rim carven with various figures of both man and horse.  Pointing to it and a similar door directly across the hall, she said, "Here you are.  Everything should be ready for you inside.  May you rest long and well."  Before Elladan could speak, she continued, speaking quickly as though she had been so wrapped up in her thoughts that she had only just remembered.  "Your efforts on Rohan's behalf are honorable and well-appreciated.  My husband and I are truly grateful."

            "Mi'lady, believe us when we say that no thanks are needed," Elrohir spoke graciously, yet quite in earnest. "Knowing the population of those foul beasts has diminished since the fall of the Dark Tower is reward in itself.  Anything my brother and I can do to aid in their demise is our pleasure."

            She nodded with proper courtesy, but her eyes darted between the two. Her head tilted in an attempt to discern the hidden emotion she believed she had sensed beneath the words.  Something had flashed in his eyes…but then, perhaps not.  'They are warriors after all,' she reasoned privately, 'Surely passion for battle should not be seen as out of the ordinary.'

            Resolved to leave her guests to their rest without further analysis, Lothiriel bid them good-night and swiftly made her way back down the corridor toward her own chamber.

          "Lovely, eh?" Elrohir said with a twinkle in his eye. "Of course, nothing compared to our maidens, but she has a certain…mortal charm, I suppose."

            He turned slightly when his brother failed to respond.  "Elladan? Naturally, I was merely jesting."

            Elladan's gaze remained fixed to the corner Lothiriel had turned.  "Hmm? Oh, lovely, yes."

            Elrhohir laughed outright. "I think you need some sleep, broth-"

            "Did you notice anything…peculiar about her?" Elladan asked suddenly, oblivious to his brother's comment.

            "Peculiar? What sort of peculiar? She seemed rather normal to me.  Typical lady of Gondor, if I may say so, with all respect.  What has gotten into you?"

            Elladan shook his head. "Nothing, nothing. I think you're right, I do need rest.  I will see you in the morning; for now a nice bed seems rather inviting."

            "Ah, all this association with men over the years has made us soft." Elrohir teased with a slap on the back. "I seem to remember going days without sleep, brother, fooling about in the forests of home.  And never the worse for the wear, either."

            Elladan smiled wearily.  "Well perhaps the years have taken their toll after all. All I know is I cannot stand a moment more of your chatter. For the last time—Good night!"

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            Hello! Thank you for reading so far! I readily accept any feedback you would like to offer, whether it be positive or negative or somewhere in between. 

            Special note:  If you noticed a particular number of mistakes in this chapter, the reason is that my multiple attempts at finding a beta reader were sadly in vain.  I am, therefore, in the market for one! If you are able to edit my work in the future, I would greatly appreciate it! Mostly I would be very happy to have someone familiar with book canon to advise me as I go, as well as someone capable of recognizing technical writing errors as well.  If you feel that you could only serve one of these capacities, that is perfectly fine as well.  Thank you so much!