Hallo people. Lots of reviews. Some nice, some not so nice but quite helpful so I forebear.
Shallindra - I love strong woman stories too. I can't believe that they all just floated around obeying all the men! Lothiriel's brothers dead? Who said that? Did I say that? Aha....
Klaw- thank you, I'm glad you're liking it so far! keep reviewing and let me know what you think! I like Legolas' character, it's quite a useful character for fanfics cuz in LOTR he doesn't actually get too much in depth coverage so it's easier to mess around with him.
WargishBoromirFan - eh? Your's is a rather angry review if I may say so! Though you are right, the arrow thing IS physically implausible. I saw it done (SFX obv) in a movie when I was younger and thought, hey imagine if that was real that would be so cool. So she can do it. Hey, it's fiction. Apologies for the time/date issue but I am one of those lazy people who is not making a scientific study on the antics of Middle Earth. I'm just writing a love story.
Lady scribe of Avandell- I hope Lothiriel isn't a Mary-Sue. She has many faults though you're making me think I'm being a little too subtle. She smokes and drinks and is pretty much unladylike, which I think can be seen from the story so far cuz I want her to have a little girt. she's also pretty arrogant, I think. However, again I apologise for time/date thing I didn't check how much of an age gap there was between ppl. You're right about one thing and it made me laugh so much: calling Eomer a horse-master isn't much of a comeback. I agree completely. But in the film of TTT, he seems so offended when Gimli called him it, that I felt it must be something that strikes a painful chord with him.
Chocolate trinkit- LOVE ur name firstly. As above, hoping Lothi is less sue-ish now. I thought hard about the elf thing. I think she would have some Elvish grace because in Dol Amroth they are half descended from elves. I also thought about the bowing thing and I think Eomer would bow to Lothi because she is a woman not because of rank. Also he is not Her King. Hoping these arguments make sense. Thanks for ur nice comments at bottom tho! -and as for her brothers... Aha....
Lometari- here I am updating!
Phew that took ages! On we go. Disclaimer: LOTR isn't mine.
The Tale of Éomer and Lothíriel.
PART FOUR.
The King of Rohan paced the council room. It was a high ceiling-ed hall with curving benches arranged in a semi-circle with smaller chairs in the foreground, which were for Prince Imrahil and his more important advisors. It was early in the day but he was a solitary man who rose early to check on his horse. The horse had been a gift for his twenty-first birthday from his cousin Théodred, before his untimely death and before they had even realised that the world was about to topple into darkness. Before the fates had turned and made him into this King that should not have been a King. He felt it keenly, but kept his melancholies to himself. His kingdom accepted him as their rightful King; all looked up to him and followed his orders. But a golden hall is very fine, yes. Maybe not for a soldier whose only wish had been to see the leadership of his cousin, and sit at his right hand –not in the throne itself.
Did that make him a weak man?
He was a proud man. Sometimes an arrogant man though he would not admit it and would never call his pride any sort of weakness. But he had weaknesses. For a King is like any other man when a pretty face distracts him. Most give in and will seek to woo the maiden. But attraction to Lothíriel had just made Éomer angry. She had the pretty mask on her face that made any man weak at the knees –why him? All he could see when he looked at her character was a stubborn woman who wanted to play swordfights and gain some 'honour'. Unlike Eowyn, Lothíriel had been given some authority for this game by her father and this is what struck a chord with Éomer. In his utmost thoughts he wanted this headstrong woman put down, injured in battle. For any victory she might gain on or off the battlefield could only reflect badly on the men around her, and what then? Would they be given work like men? Give up domestic life for the soldiering life? Vote for advisors? BECOME advisors!? But in his deepest heart, he recognised the respect for a woman trying to raise herself above her proper station, filling in the gaps a brother should hold. Just as he had rested his feet in Theodred's shoes. He quashed this moral thought and concentrated rather on the arrogant face that had been his greeting the previous meeting, and her ungainly flirtation with Legolas.
Éomer was standing in a square on sunlight. The sun dappled on his chest and gilded his hair. The sea stretched out forever on the horizon of his view, one knee resting with graceful ease on the window seat. For once completely relaxed. The door of the council room banging against the adjoining wall jolted him out of his stupor, and he turned sharply, alert instantly, his right hand straying to the hilt of his sword. Lothíriel stood motionless in the doorway, having just spotted him. She was silent for a moment. The man before her, drenched in gold looked like a radiant spirit, a man transcending mankind. The meaning of beauty. And for a split second she had thought it was Legolas. This made her feel ashamed. Barbed as he appeared to be, the King of Rohan was not an ugly man. They had been standing in foolish silence for too long. She cleared her throat, and made an uneasy curtsey.
"Good morning my Lord, I hope you slept well," she offered, moving into the room and into the heady light. It soaked her clothing and made her feel unwashed.
"I wish to be billeted with my men, if that is possible," said Éomer, cuttingly.
Lothíriel's temper flared, instantly offended. "Is this a comment on your host's most kindly offered hospitality?" she asked, barely civil. She felt her nostrils flare. They were the part of her face that would always betray her feeling.
"I wish to be nearer my horse," said Éomer, hastily correcting, "I hope you or your father will not take this as any slight on your hospitality." He moved closer, removing his hand from his sword at the risk of being misunderstood again. 'Stubborn wretch,' he thought.
'Arrogant soldier,' she decided, and was about to attempt some witty quip when he asked, sounding concerned, "My Lady Lothíriel, are you injured?"
She glanced down at her clothes, which she had to admit were not what she would wish the King or Rohan to see her in. She had passed that way hoping to come across her father. Her shirt and breeches, neither suiting the female form, a fact that didn't generally bother her but right now seemed extremely important, were dark and stiff with soiling. "One of my captains. He led a scouting party across two hundred leagues since the evening before last. They returned, few of them. This is his blood, not mine. They arrived this morning. All evil has gathered from the last corners of this world and would make its end here. We will have to meet them between here and Gondor."
"Because you do not wish your city to be under siege?"
"Because it will be a very large battle. They are gathering quickly. All Middle Earth is coming together for one more clash. They are already almost ten thousand strong. This news they brought me at half three this morning. I have been all over the city and surrounding lands, gathering information from my reports to go into in more detail in council."
"And your captain?"
"He is dead. He died half an hour ago. Excuse me, sir."
"You are not come here for the council?"
"I came in search of my father. But it is near seven. Breakfast will be in the hall at nine if you wish for it. Excuse me, I keep to a regime."
Lothíriel shut and bolted the door to her chamber and kicked it. There was something that infuriated her about Éomer that she couldn't put her finger on. He made her feel inadequate, not just as a soldier that she could plainly see he did not approve of, but as a woman as well. She ripped off the stained shirt she wore and stamped on it a couple of times in childlike frustration. Because of the unexpected and highly unwanted conversation she'd held with the golden haired irritant, she would be late for the sword and in her distracted state was likely to perform badly. She cast a longing glance at her unmade bed before tugging on a clean tunic and belting it. A half empty glass of wine stood on her cabinet and she downed it quickly before departing.
The sword ring was a small gallery with a stage in the centre. Various captains of all the armies that had gathered were there practicing, honing their skills. They bowed to Lothíriel and she sought out her second in command, who was seated in the gallery observing the reflexes of some of the Rohirrim. Their style was more of a stabbing motion than the sweeping slashes used by the foot soldiers, a sign of well-bred riders, adept at using arms from horseback.
"They need to move their feet," he said dryly, taking his pipe from between his teeth and offering it to Lothíriel who inhaled deeply and held the fumes in her lungs for a while before exhaling. "But they had good standing posture. For riders. Their Commander but drill them hard."
"Their commander is their King."
"You don't like him very much, do you?"
"Where did you hear that?"
"From your father."
"You saw him this morning?"
"I gave him the news the scouts brought in. He wants to present a medal to our esteemed captain's widow. I said, give her some money, that would probably serve her better."
"Well thank the Valar one of us could find him. Come; let's have some exercise before I fall asleep. Time seems to be running away today and we have to attend council... I have no breathing space at all."
"Take more rest, my Lady. You will fall down dead before your time. The ring is clearing. Let's show the Gondorians how it's done."
They sparred with the blunt wooden training swords, sparing no mercy for each other; beating out tiredness and the grief for the men they had lost that morning. The ring cleared completely and men leaned forwards in the gallery to watch them fight. They drilled with force, as if they really had the intent to kill, as if the soldier opposite were an orc or wildman. Lothíriel's reflexes were impossibly fast, writhing like a snake, using her feet to advantage, but the man could use his weight to pin her. When swords failed they had no qualms about kicking each other. Their drill ended in a spectacular finale where through some ill-conceived turn both swords went whirling over the heads of the audience and clattered onto the floor. The second commander, whose name was Benadil, bowled over the Princess and pinned her to the ground. There was applause.
"Ok I give up now!" said Lothíriel breathlessly, "you win, you win." They laughed good-naturedly and he pulled her up. "I've missed breakfast again. Come, we should go to the council I suppose." Outside the door the corridor was deserted. It seemed to shudder and grow darker. "Benadil," said Lothíriel, urgently. She gripped his arms tightly.
"Commander, what ails you?"
"I- I- N-nothing. A d-darkness took me."
"I did advise you to take more rest. My Lady!" Lothíriel's head lolled backwards, extending her pale neck. Benadil scooped her up in his arms and half dragged her to her rooms before anyone could see her in that state. He knew of her worries that no matter how great a soldier or war strategist she was, people, MEN, would only see the woman and not the mettle. He startled the maid who had been making up the bed, and laying the lady on it bid the girl hurry for some water and reviving herb.
The council met and adjourned and Lothíriel remained in bed, weak with fatigue. "Unfortunately it is no condition treatable," said the healer, after examination. "She is before her monthly cycle and required more sleep and food than she allowed herself. In her bid to manage her gruelling self-designated regime she has injured herself. She has become too weak to move today. Any commander, regardless of sex would have had troubles with the grilling regime she sets for herself. If she continues in this vigour, it is likely that she will drive herself into an early grave." This said to Imrahil, who felt the words as though they were pointing at him; in his doubt for his daughter's capabilities, he had pushed her too hard.
But war cannot be delayed.
When Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, leader of the Three Companies awoke for a substantial period, two days later, she learnt that the riders of Rohan had been given the task of ambushing two connecting groups that were reported to be approaching the massing orcs. The assignment that she had hoped to be given, to prove her worth a little and those of her forces, who had instead been held up at the city doing drill with the knights of Gondor instead. Both ambushes successful, acclaim had fallen on the head of the King of Rohan, who had expressed utmost concern for her 'womanly' condition.
She was livid.
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Love, skinnyrita xxxxxxxxxxxxx
