Chapter Ten
Soon after the Gondorian entourage left, Edoras and her king bid farewell for the second time to the last of their guests as Legolas and Gimli would begin their journey to the Glittering Caves and Fangorn forest. The hobbits would also begin their journey home, the decrease in their Shire weed supply doing well to motivate the four of them on their trip.
So with their departure, hence began Lothíriel's first week in Edoras.
It was the first morning after the last guest's departure and Lothíriel was seated at the dining table, gracefully buttering a slice of bread as Éowyn, whom was seated opposite her was trying not to cringe.
"From what I understand, Faramir's reputation is dependant on whether I can sew or not?" Éowyn asked. From the head of the table, Éomer released a snort.
"Then he is a ruined man before he even weds," Éomer snickered into his goblet. Éowyn shot him a withering look and Lothíriel tactfully smothered a smile. Instead she kept a placid face and nodded to Éowyn.
"Yes, I suppose it could be said that the pride of a man lies in what he can display of his wife's handiwork, like a woman's pride is … the number of battle scars her husband has survived," Lothíriel explained further.
"Is that so? Then no doubt I am a prize to be caught," said Éomer and gave Lothíriel a wink. This time, the princess couldn't help but smile. Éomer would be a prize with or without battle scars; she thought but quickly pushed that thought out of her head. Inhaling deeply she turned back to Éowyn.
"You will also be responsible for hosting parties for nobilities and their boring court wives," she said the last bit with a grin as Éowyn cringed harder.
"And how often must these parties be held?" she asked in despair.
"More than enough, I can assure you," answered Lothíriel.
"I do not see how having a party can be such an ordeal. It is pleasantly easy," Éomer said and in his mind he thought back to all the parties and the dancing he had attended, especially the party two nights ago.
"Well, your majesty, Gondorian etiquette is somewhat more rigid that the Rohirrims. Unlike the wild parties that you Rohirrims enjoy so much, the parties that Éowyn will host are more… quiet and calming. There would probably be a band playing soft tunes somewhere unseen, but the dinner would mostly be occurring at the dining table, where guests shall be seated. And most assuredly there will be no bottomless ale mugs," she said and Éomer smiled.
"If that is so, do me a favor sister, and forget to invite me," he said to Éowyn, who rolled her eyes.
"I would not want you there either," she retorted back to him. Éomer wanted to reply, because heaven forbid Éowyn have the last say, but his sister held up her hand to stop him.
"Hush brother. Lothíriel, please continue, I fear that the "dinner" is not as easy as you have made it sound," said Éowyn, with more than a touch of wariness in her voice. Lothíriel smiled at Éowyn's accurate deduction.
"I wouldn't say hard, just a little confusing, but only in the beginning," she said, adding the last bit hastily as she saw Éowyn's eyes enlarge. However, Lothíriel was unable to continue briefing Éowyn for at that moment, Helena walked in.
"Good morning, your majesty, your highnesses," she greeted them before dropping into a curtsy. Then she moved to stand in between Éomer and Lothíriel's seat though slightly behind their chairs.
"Good morning, Helena, will you join us?" Éomer replied to her greeting, Lothíriel and Éowyn echoing him.
"Thank you, your majesty, but I have broken my fast with my father earlier this morn. Éowyn, the young ladies are ready and waiting, shall we?" she said, smiling. Éowyn, who was about to bite a slice of toast paused halfway.
"What ladies?" she asked. Oh no, she was quite sure she wasn't due for any dress fitting until much later in the afternoon. Helena kept her smile.
"The future shield maidens you had promised to instruct in the skills of combat," she said. Éowyn just shook her head, and Éomer and Lothíriel also turned to look at the confused Éowyn. Helena used this opportunity to look pointedly at Lothíriel then at Éomer, then repeated the eye movement. Suddenly Éowyn's face cleared and she quickly got up to her feet.
"Oh, yes! Those ladies. Forgive me, but it slipped my mind, I almost forgot," she said and quickly rushed to Helena's side. Éomer shot her a questioning look.
"Éowyn, stop. What shield maiden?" he asked. What is his sister up to now? Éowyn cleared her throat and pursed her lips.
"Not exactly shield maidens, but there are several young ladies who have expressed their interest in the art of combat, and have asked that I give a few lessons. Of course, I had agreed," she explained slowly, once in a while her gaze flicking to Helena, who nodded.
"But Éowyn, I thought you would keep Lothíriel company," he said trying to maintain a smile. It didn't suit him that the princess may find his hospitality somewhat wanting. But Lothíriel quickly shook her head.
"No, your majesty, it is quite alright. It would disappoint the young ladies if Éowyn said no, and I don't want to be blamed for causing such a feeling," she replied, giving him her best smile. Éomer's eyes glazed over a bit, but he shook himself back into focus.
"No will blame you for anything, princess, it is just that…" he began but Éowyn interrupted.
"Brother, why don't you fill in for me for this morning. It isn't as if you have anything important to do," said Éowyn with fake brightness, as if the thought had just occurred to her, and hadn't been run through the night before. Lothíriel's eyes widen at the possibility of being alone with the young king.
"That won't be necessary, Éowyn. I am sure his majesty does have important things to do," she said, but held her breath anyways. She released it softly when Éomer gave her a smile and took her hand into his large ones.
"Princess, it would be an honor. And besides, I wouldn't want you to think that both children of Eomund are rude and inhospitable," he said sweetly, but the barb was obvious enough for Éowyn to give out a protest. However, a small nudge from Helena stopped her from sitting back down and showing that she wasn't rude and inhospitable.
"We shall go now, princess if he acts in any way improper, knee him between the legs," she said and with a huff turned to walk away. Lothíriel blushed at Éowyn's words, more from the fact of what is in between the legs than kneeing it. Honestly Riel, such thoughts, get a hold of yourself!
The two sat in silence after Éowyn and Helena left, neither knowing what to say to the other. And neither realized that their hands were still clasped together until Feälef entered shortly later and looked at them with raised eyebrows. Immediately Lothíriel pulled her hand back and tucked them in her lap, all the while her head bent.
"Forgive my intrusion, your majesty, but there are some matters that are in need of tending. But if you are busy…" Feälef let his words trail. Éomer cleared his throat and looked apologetically at Lothíriel.
"Princess, I am sorry… I…" he began but Lothíriel shook her head.
"No need for apologies, your majesty. Please do not let my presence hinder your duties. I shall find some way to entertain myself," she replied trying hard to not appear disappointed. Éomer gave her a calculative look, not fully convince of her joviality. Feälef looked at both their saddened faces and sighed, rolling his eyes a little, a small smile playing at his lips that he hid well.
So that is how it is, he thought. Making a great show of it, he unrolled the scroll he was holding and pretended to read. Naturally being the king's adviser, he had already memorized it before making an audience with the king.
"Actually, your majesty, I seem to have made mistake. Your presence is not required till this afternoon. You do not seem to have any plans this morning at all. I do heartily apologize for my error," he said successfully sounding remorse as if he had made the mistake. In truth, there was the whole agenda of borders and lands and treaties, but Feälef supposed it was nothing that he couldn't handle. Better than keeping the attention of a love-struck man, no doubt. Only for this morning though. Éomer, for his part gaped a little at the royal advisor. Feälef and mistake was not something he would put in the same sentence. Éomer had known Feälef for what he felt as forever, when Feälef was still a young man, just appointed as a junior advisor to Théoden, and was well versed with Feälef's nearly obsessive trait of being accurate and perfect the first time around. However, he saw the subtle suffering mixed with amusement in the man's eyes and grinned. I owe you one old man, he thought. He turned to the princess who had not lifted her head even once since Feälef's entrance.
"Well, princess would you still like that tour?" he asked grinning broadly. Lothíriel looked at him, not daring to believe. She turned to Feälef.
"My lord, please don't change anything on my behalf. I am sure…" she began but Feälef shook his head.
"And I am sure you are sure too, but truly your highness, you will be doing me a favor," he said and bowed, more to hide the grin on his face. He could teach a warrior like Éomer to tolerate court affairs and diplomatic matters and being indoors for hours at a time, but it was beyond a confirmed bachelor as himself to keep the attention of a man smitten by a beautiful woman. He will leave that to Helfast, who had gained much experience in that area during Théoden's courting of his lady love. Feälef's thoughts returned back to the present when Éomer stood.
"Shall we then princess, before I have time to fully understand the words of my advisor," said Éomer, giving Feälef a narrowed look. Lothíriel hid her laugh behind a napkin before she too stood. Feälef allowed himself to smile openly at his king's face. Then with a bow he made his exit.
"He seems much at ease with you. Are you two well acquainted?" she asked, her hand tucked neatly against his arm as they made their way to the main doors of Meduseld. Éomer sighed.
"Too well, I am afraid. He taught Éowyn and I our first letters and numbers. If I had known then that someday I would need his counseling I would have most definitely a more amiable pupil," he said. Lothíriel smiled.
"But instead you chose to run from his lessons and ride horses under the sun," she said. He nodded, also smiling.
"Yes, surprisingly, Éowyn was more tolerant of his teachings and allowed herself to be kept inside on a sunny day, a book before her and a quill in her hands. But I… well, confinement didn't agree with me," he sighed again as childhood memories flashed before his eyes. Theodred had been as reluctant as he was in studies and would assist him in ambushing their unsuspecting teacher before running off in a flurry of gold and laughter to disappear for the remaining day. Of course, on their return there would be a stack of work to be completed and a tongue lashing from Théoden. But Éomer had found out early in his youth that Feälef was a softie encrusted in a gruff shell, and had exploited that to its fullest extent. The elder man had never raised his voice or his hands at his wayward students and by and by he became their friend. To say he had grieved at Theodred's death would be insufficient a word.
"I must make use of this outing as much as possible for no doubt he will use his power to keep me locked inside as punishment for all those years or evading him and his lessons," he said with a laugh.
"Revenge is a dish best served cold," Lothíriel answered. Éomer laughed louder at that. They had reached main doors leading outwards, and at the door were two servants to assist in fastening their cloaks, which were made of a thin fabric, its presence more of a customary effect that for its real purpose.
Once they stepped outside into the sun, Lothíriel had to blink at the brightness of the fierce Rohan sun. Already her skin had begun to tingle as the sun's rays began to heat her up. Éomer waited patiently for her to adjust to the bright light then offered his hand again and helped her descend the step that would take them to the heart of Edoras.
Basically their tour followed the same route that Éomer had lead his guests around five days ago, but Éomer found himself suddenly remembering things that he had not told his previous guests. Perhaps the genuine curiosity of his guest contributed to his explanation.
Lothíriel looked admiringly at the design of the building. Without the presence of her impatient male counterparts, Lothíriel found herself discovering things she had not noticed on her first tour of the Rohirrim city. For example, there are two stables on the outskirt of the city. One was the extension of the arena, where she had first met Helena and then just behind it, hidden in the shadows was another, smaller in size, though not by much. She also realized that the carvings that adorned the two buildings were rather unusual. In Dol Amroth, the royal stables had depiction of galloping horses on its walls. But the Rohan stables did not have that elaborate pictures as one would expect from a race that treated horses as equals.
Instead on the larger stable, the walls were of unmarred wood and above the entrance of the great doors leading in, was the head of a man encased in a head armor made of gold, flanked on both sides by two prancing stags, also of gold. Even though he was just a piece of immobile object, Lothíriel couldn't help shiver at the crude magnificence of it. And she could almost swear the empty pits of its eyes were looking directly at her. Where else on the second building there was a drawing of a galloping white horse making the entire one side of the stable and by the side of the door was a full length statue of a woman looking down to anyone who would enter the doors of the stable, a placid smile on her gentle face, her hair made to look as if billowing in the wind, not unlike a horses mane in full gallop. Both the statue and picture were made of a chalky material. The statue towered high above Lothíriel, having been made as tall as the building itself, but she couldn't help feeling drawn to it. Tentatively she reached out and fingered the folds of skirt of the statue. Éomer who had just turned back to her from talking with one of the stable hands went to stand by her.
"That is Peon, the horse goddess. She guards and protects the mares," he said. Lothíriel nodded unable to say anything. It was like she too could feel the power of the goddess wash over her. But Éomer was oblivious to her feelings and moved to bust hanging on the larger stable.
"And this is Cernunnos, the Lord of the Beasts, and he looks after the stallions and bestows them with fertility and vitality," he continued and from his tone it was obvious that this was the favorite of the two. Realization dawned on her.
"You keep your mares and stallions separately?" she asked in wonder. Éomer nodded and looked at her in puzzlement.
"Of course, don't you?" he asked, like anyone would know that. Lothíriel shook her head.
"No," she replied. Éomer snorted.
"Separation reduces tension during mating season and prevents fights in stables," he explained. Lothíriel nodded.
"Yes, that makes sense. Too bad people can not live like that," she said mostly to herself but Éomer heard her.
"Men and women separated? But surely princess, life would be much boring that way," he said. This time it was Lothíriel's turn to snort.
"Spoken like a man who has never attended a court gathering. I, for one, could live without pretense in hoping of ensnaring a suitable husband and I most definitely wouldn't mind having to not witness juvenility of grown men fighting just to win a maiden's favor," she said with vehemence. But Éomer remained unfazed.
"Perhaps, but then there also won't be the silent thrill of stolen glances, shy smiles and if no one's looking a quick and chaste kiss behind the curtains," he said. Lothíriel looked at him, an eyebrow raised.
"Speaking from experience, your majesty?" she asked wryly.
"Princes, if I wish to kiss a maiden, it will not be behind a curtain, nor will it be chaste," he said his voice heavy with meaning, his blue eyes piercing deep within her own, forcing her to remember their first and only kiss.
"No, you wouldn't," she said softly, unable to pull her gaze away.
"And that is speaking from experience right princess?" he said, breaking into a mischievous grin which broke the spell holding her and she was able to turn away, her face bright red.
"All this talking, when there is still so much to see. Will you not continue your tour your majesty?" Lothíriel said quickly changing the subject. Éomer's grin broaden but obliged by holding his hand to her which she accepted thought she still did not look at him.
They walked downwards towards the heart of Edoras; the hustle and bustle of its people. Here, Lothíriel felt a little uneasy. Although there was no open hostility of the people towards her, she could feel their suspicion piercing into her back as she passed them by. And it did not help either that a little girl had to be dragged by her mother when told to give Lothíriel a flower before bursting into hysterical sobs.
"Too many strangers have scarred our lands, and the wound of hostility from my people will take a while to heal," he said softly to her, his tone apologetic as they continued away from the busy area to the city's quieter outskirt. Lothíriel had not even realized her facial expressions revealed what her heart felt. She quickly shook her head at him and smiled.
"Of course, it is no different in my city. It is up to us, as their leaders, to help heal their wounds by understanding their grief and to restore trust via diplomatic relationships with other cities. Perhaps one day Dol Amroth and Rohan could establish a trade relationship, for from what I see of your fair city, there is much that you could offer my people and vise versa," she replied. It was a while for her to realize he had lagged behind a little. Turning, she saw him watching her, his eyebrows raised high to his hairline. Ai, how could you be so careless, Riel?
"I have over spoken have I not? I beg your pardon, sometimes my mouth tends to forget its place, and allows my tongue to run a little too free," she said, for the first time feeling fear around the king. But if possible, Éomer's eyebrows rose higher.
"I did not take offense at all. I was just trying to understand who you are, because when I think I have you figured out, you go and prove my thoughts wrong," he said and to her relief he smiled and walked to stand by her.
"I do not know what you are talking about. I am a humble princess, there is nothing unpredictable about me," she said laughing at him slightly. But Éomer shook his head.
"No, I disagree. If anything, you are no more predictable that the next sand storm. But I will figure you out, princess," he said as a promise to himself. Lothíriel just smiled.
"If you so wish, my lord, but you will be disappointed," she replied. He didn't say anything as they continued their walk over a young hillock, him occasionally flicking a glance at her. They rounded the hill and Lothíriel was presented with another sight. Not unlike the flat piece of land that held the horses, this piece of land dipped much lower than the other parts of the hill and had a row or archery targets running against the walls of the city some tilting backwards at the ferocity of the arrows released by their archers, a few dummies of straw encased in canvas hanging from a post and at the furthest end knocked so hard by the charging Eorlings that she could nearly hear the seams rip, and just below them was an area separated from the rest by low fences, and it was in that ring that Lothíriel saw a handful of young girls listening attentively to Éowyn. Perched onto one of the fences was Helena, her brown hair distinguishing her from any body else.
"This is our training area. Do you see that narrow road there? It is connected to the stables and travels behind the city, so my men can transport their horses without much hassle," he said pointing as he explained. Lothíriel followed his gaze and looked as the Eorlings trained. Her father's Swan Knights trained hard daily but their efforts seem to pale compared to the Rohirrims. Even from up there she could see the sweat glistening from their bare backs, their gold hair dark from the liquid of their body. And each of the soldiers shone like bronze statues under the sun's rays. Would Éomer look as magnificent as they did when he was down there training with them? Or would he outshine them all, his beauty dulling theirs by comparison? She couldn't help sigh dreamily as she thought of him on the field… topless.
Her thoughts were interrupted when she felt a slight nudge on her arms. Turning, she saw Éomer pointed downwards. She looked down and saw Éowyn waving at her. She waved back with a smile. She turned to Éomer but the young king seemed to have lost his good humor somewhat. In fact he was looking at his training soldiers like they were vile creatures, his frown etched deep into his forehead. What could have brought on such a change? She thought.
"Perhaps we should head back, the sun is getting hotter and I should see what Feälef has done with my country," he said, his voice gruff and… sulky. Lothíriel was a little taken aback. What on earth was Éomer suddenly sulking about? But she said nothing as she placed a hand on his arm and allowed him to lead them back to Meduseld. The trip back was quiet as Éomer looked to be pondering something hard. It was only as the ascended the steps of his palace and had placed their cloaks in the hands of the waiting servants did he turn to her, his brow furrowed.
"I don't want you to go to the training grounds again," he said. Lothíriel's eyes widen.
"What? Why?" she asked, so clearly surprised. Had she done something wrong? Did she disrespect some sacred warrior routine when she was there?
"I don't like you looking at other men," was his reply. Lothíriel just stared at him dumbfounded.
"Excuse me?" she said.
"It just is not proper for a princess to be where the men are half dresses like that, that is all," he replied.
"I have seen my fair share of half naked men, Éomer, I do watch when my brothers train with their men," she said dryly. Éomer's expression soured and his blue eyes darken into what Lothíriel could only explain as jealousy. Ho hum, what is this?
"You are jealous are you not?" she said breaking into a grin at that realization. Éomer's dark look faded to be replaced by sudden uncomfortableness.
"I am not jealous. Why would I be jealous?" he cried defensively. Lothíriel rolled her eyes.
"You are jealous because I, a lady have seen other men train in their warrior games while you, hero of the War of Rings are cooped up in a four walled room, where you can not show off your prowess to little ol' me, right?" she replied triumphantly. Éomer was speechless to that.
"Do not worry Éomer, you do not have to prove yourself to me, I have heard first hand of your bravery and skills, something that many a men can not even dream of owning to," she said and winked at him.
Éomer was stunned. She thought he was jealous because he couldn't show off to her? Did she really see him as a preening peacock? Well, if that is what she wants to believe, it is far better than the truth anyways. How could he explain his thoughts of wanting to send his men to the gallows when he saw her look at them with more that just appreciation in her eyes?
"You have called my bluff, princess. But promise you will not go there alone?" he said his tone stern. Lothíriel sighed.
"Fine, I shall not go to your precious training ground," she said. Nodding Éomer smiled at her.
"Well, princess it has been a wonderful morning, but I should go and see what has happened to my city. Will you be alright by yourself?" he asked. Lothíriel nodded.
"Yes, and if I may, I would like to walk through your gardens. I had only seen it in passing," she said. Éomer nodded.
"Of course princess, you have leave to roam my palace," he said. Lothíriel brightened at that.
"I may go anywhere?" she asked again. Éomer nodded again and a lopsided grin graced his features.
"Anywhere, but I would ask you to be discreet in entering my bedchambers. We would not want tongues to wag," he said then skillfully evaded her pinching fingers. Lothíriel tried to look reprimanding but couldn't help join in his laughter.
"You are a dreamer, my lord. Any lady that would enter your chambers must be cross eyed," she retorted back.
"Nay, princess you're eyes are not that bad," was his reply and his laughter grew louder at her bristling look.
"Oh, just go to your council and let me have some peace," she said, pushing him slightly. He grabbed her hands and placed kisses on both palms.
"In peace then I shall leave you. I will see you at lunch," he said, dropping her hands. With a quick wave he turned on his heels and disappeared behind a set of doors. He had not realized that Lothíriel had not responded, she stood there her cheeks burning bright, her palms presses against her face.
Unfortunately for Lothíriel, after their half day together, that was the last she saw of Éomer for many a days. In fact Lothíriel was left for much part of those days to entertain herself as both siblings were preoccupied. In the beginning she had to satisfy herself by roaming the palace, feeling small ripples of joy when she found the entrance to a beautiful garden separated from the other parts of the city by a high wall, or the time when she stumbled through a door to find the library behind it, though that was more frustrating as the books were in Rohirric and she could not read it. Eventually the princess found solace in just staring out the window at the people outside living their lives, wasting the hours with fantasies created within the safe havens of her mind, idle till the siblings would meet her for afternoon meals and then Lothíriel and Éowyn would spend the remaining hours of the day locked inside the four walls of a dressing chamber where a certain fussy and cranky seamstress held the key.
Four days had passed and once again Lothíriel was seated on her now favorite chair overlooking the city outside. She let out a sigh and wished with all her might that she was there amongst them, and not confined to the perimeters of the palace. But any attempts to leave would be thwarted expertly by Éomer's chief advisor himself, and Lothíriel swore that man had eyes everywhere, for he never missed a step she made. Must have been all those years of dogging his some-what reluctant pupils, she thought with a smile. Besides even if she did manage to escape out into the city, with her black hair and silk clothes, she was like a fish out of water. Unless… she wasn't wearing her customary dresses and her hair was tucked neatly in a scarf. An idea had begun to form within her pretty head and not wanting to waste too much time, she quickly headed back to her room. Once she got there, she gently bolted her door and rummaged through her trunk. Yes! She had not forgotten it. Slowly she pulled a dress of muslin blue, with a woolen apron sewed to its front. Rummaging a little deeper, she unearthed another desired object; a head scarf of sky blue, large enough to completely hide her jet black hair. And to top it off came a pair of soft leather black shoes. Well that wasn't very common, but she did not think anyone would look at her feet.
She arranged the pile neatly on her bed before stepping out of her room and looked searchingly across the empty corridors.
"Does her highness require some assistance?" a soft voice to her left startled her. She turned and saw it was one of the many maids of the palace. She nodded and put on a slightly wobbly smile.
"Yes, I have a terrible headache and would it be possible for me to not be disturbed for the remaining morning?" she asked tentatively. The young girl frowned a little, translating Lothíriel's words in her mind. After a second or two her face cleared up.
"Yes, your highness of course. I will make sure no one disturbs you," the girl replied slowly. Lothíriel gave her a grateful smile.
"Would you like some tea… or would you like me to call our healer?" the girl spoke again and Lothíriel quickly shook her head.
"No, that would not be necessary, I just need some sleep, I shall be fine," Lothíriel said quickly. The girl was not very convinced. What would her king say if his pretty guest was allowed to be in pain and a healer not called? Besides, there are talks that she would be the next queen of Rohan, and it wouldn't do to insult her now.
Lothíriel saw the conflicted look on the young girl's face and smiled a little wider. She reached out and placed a hand gently on the girl's arm.
"I am alright, do not worry, I will be fine this afternoon, okay?" she said to the surprised girl. She gaped a little at Lothíriel's hand on her arm before nodding vigorously.
"Thank you," said Lothíriel again and quickly headed back into her room.
Once inside, she set to work. First she piled the pillows in the center of the bed and pulled the blanket over it, to make it seem like a body was sleeping in the bed. Then she quickly changed from her dress to the muslin dress, unable to resist a contented sigh after being released from the confining corset. Lastly, she released her hair from its intricate braids and tied it into a ponytail, looping the ends so it hung half the length. Finishing off she tied the scarf around her head and took a look into the mirror.
"But I still look foreign," she grunted in despair. Dejectedly she looked around the room hoping against hope that something would inspire her. And inspire it did, for on the windowsill was a pot of flower. She picked the pot off the sill and took it back to the mirror. Using only a finger she dug a little of the soil and smeared it thinly over her cheeks and forehead. Then doing the same thing she brushed some dirt over her apron and dress. Once she was done, she no longer looked like a groomed princess, but like a farm girl, just coming back from her daily chores. There was no way she would be identified. Smothering a triumphant yell, Lothíriel snuck out of her room, after making sure that the corridor was COMPLETELY empty.
She headed quickly for the mess hall, which she had discovered on one of her previous exploration, much to the chagrin of the palace cooks who thought it improper for any member of royalty to be in such a lowly place. She reached the kitchen and holding her breath she quietly slipped in. she stopped momentarily, leaning against the door and held her breath. She received a few odd looks but none of it told her she was recognized. Breathing out with relief, she began to maneuver her way through the meandering road of tables and people.
As she made her way out she couldn't help but smile as she beheld the wonder before her. It was a room full of loud and boisterous woman. They were laughing, yelling and some were even singing as their hands moved deftly in preparation of the noon and evening meals. On one side of the kitchen she saw a huge fire where three peacocks and two boars were turning on a spit, a young boy positioned at each spit, turning it around as an elder woman coated it with rich honey at each turn. Large tables were groaning under the weight of vegetables and fruits, some cut, some still in its original form. Not being able to resist, Lothíriel snuck underneath the arms of a large lady and picked up a juicy apple, pulling away just as a ladle landed where her hand had been. Laughing she winked at the lady, who was shaking her head at Lothíriel and saying something she didn't understand and took a bite off her apple.
The only scare came when she was suddenly stopped just a few steps from the exit by a tall lady. The lady said something to her but Lothíriel could only stare at her, the apple stuck in her mouth and her heart pounding a mile a minute. She was going to be discovered. But the revelation never came, as the lady just shook her head and shoved a basket into her arms. She stared dumbly at the basket before it registered. That lady had mistaken her as one of the help and she was holding dirty linen in her arms. If it weren't for the weight of the thing, Lothíriel would have jumped in glee. She was truly a part of them now. Skipping happily she headed out of the kitchen into the bright sunlight. Blinking a couple of times, she dumped the basket alongside some others and quickly ran out from the palace grounds.
It was better than she had ever imagined. The city was so busy that she easily blended in without anyone so much as looking at her. She visited one stall to another, smiling to anyone who would talk to her but never replying as she had no idea what was said to her. She realized soon after that Edoras was very different from Dol Amroth. Dol Amroth was like a well organized pantry, where items were placed in order of similarities, but Edoras was a mixture of everything. It was not unusual to have a row of houses right in the middle of what seemed like a market, then branch out to form a perimeter with hawker stalls set up in between or right outside the houses. And in the middle of it all was a flat piece of land where the children played as their parents worked, their laughter and cheer adding to the already noisy place. Lothíriel indulged herself a little and stood watching the children play, their golden hair glittering in the sun, rivaled only by their dazzling smile as they ran and played. A sudden longing for home washed over her and she slipped her hand into her pocket to finger the vial Aearon had given her. She missed him and her family very much, but the thrill of a new place still enticed her and she quickly dismissed her homesickness to continue looking at the children. She realized that this was also the same place where Éomer's party had been held and where they had danced… she blushed furiously as the memory came back to her and her thoughts wandered to the King of Rohan.
What is he up to now? She thought, in her head already picturing him behind a desk of solid wood, his head bent over a parchment, hair ruffled in frustration and eyes glazed. Such a shame to cage a free spirit like him. But some sacrifices had to be made now he was king… like marrying a Rohirrim lady.
Lothíriel! Don't go there! Her mind suddenly shouted out and Lothíriel quickly began to think of other things. Like the sun was high in the sky now.
"Time to head back in," she sighed, thinking of the horrid hours she would have to spend with the tyrannical seamstress. But a sudden grip on her arm caused her to forget anything but the searing pain that ripped up her arm. Turning to the person she was slightly terrified to see a tall man with dirty blond hair. He said something to her but she didn't understand. He yelled at her this time and she nearly fainted from the reek of his breath. He was obviously drunk. Not wanting to blow her cover, Lothíriel just shook her head and tried to pull away from him. Sensing that she was trying to run, he tightened the grip around her arm and yelled louder, pulling her closer as she did. She had begun to panic and the blood was pounding in her ears. She looked around trying to catch someone's attention, but the scene didn't seem out of the ordinary to her passerby and she was left to fend for herself.
"Please, let me go," she whispered fearfully. His eyes widen at her usage of the common tongue and a nasty grin broke out against his black lips, revealing several rotten teeth. He said something again and the tone he said it in did not sound good. He pulled her even closer to him, his other hand reaching out to her waist and she was about to scream for help when everything stopped. Looking at the drunk she saw his eyes wide with fear and she realized another hand gripped the same hand that held her arm in a deathlike grip. She closed her eyes and prayed that it wasn't him, though she hoped with all her might it was him. But a voice spoke out and she knew it was NOT him. She looked up to her savior, realizing he was familiar but could not remember who he was. She was hardly aware of the clipped words he said to the drunk man but was fully aware of him retreating back into the crowd, bowing every often to them. She cradled her injured arm, rubbing it gently, hoping to ease the pain.
"Are you terribly hurt… your highness?" Lothíriel's head snapped up to the amused blue eyes. How did he know? And how many other people know? Is that why no one would help her?
"Do not look at me so, your highness, I will not tell your secret," he said and smiled at her. Relief washed over her and that along with the slight trauma of being attacked, Lothíriel's legs turned to jelly. Sensing her predicament, the young man quickly steered her to a nearby bench. He sat next to her but maintained a respectable distance. Lothíriel inhaled deeply and sat quietly until her insides had completely calmed. Then she turned to her savior.
"Thank you for saving me. I don't know what…" her words broke off halfway and she inhaled deeply again.
"That is quite alright princess, it is over," he said kindly. She smiled at him again and they sat quietly for a second longer.
"How did you know that I am… well, me?" she finally asked. He smiled at her question and pondered a while, as if finding the right words.
"When one has seen a being so beautiful that the gods would weep in jealousy, it is hard to not recognize her again, even if she is coated in self made mud," he answered and Lothíriel blushed.
"You have a glib tongue, kind sir, but pray tell when we have met?" she asked. He smiled again.
"I am Elleon, you highness, King Éomer's…"
"Messenger! You are the young boy who delivered Éomer's message to me," she said in sudden recognition. That's why he was so familiar. Elleon beamed that she remembered him.
"I am honored to be remembered by such a lovely lady," he said and bowed his head. Lothíriel laughed and gently swatted his arm.
"Forgive me if I offend, but why is her highness wondering the city without an escort and dressed so commonly?" he asked after a moments pause. Lothíriel wondered if she should tell. At first she did not want to, but the realized that it would benefit to have a friend other that Éomer and Éowyn.
"I was bored in the palace, with Éomer and Éowyn busy, so I decided to dress as everyone else and enjoy your city. Not that it worked," she said despairingly. Elleon smiled sympathetically at her.
"You were doing quite well, until Old Man Daroth attacked you," he said, a little angry that the princess should be handled in such a barbaric way. Lothíriel shivered a little at the thought of him.
"He did scare me. He was yelling something at me, but I could not understand. Then when I told him to let me go, he tried..." she shivered again.
"Do not think about it, your highness. He won't be bothering you again. He does that to most maidens but goes away when she gives him a farthing for a mug of ale," he explained.
"I see. That must have been what he wanted. Well, I suppose my days of cavorting unknown have come to an untimely end," she said, her voice heavy with woe. Back to moping around the palace again. Elleon was silent for a while.
"Your highness, perhaps there is still a way. I think I know someone who would be more than happy to show you around the city… as one of us," he said smiling mischievously. Lothíriel's eyes widen in joy.
"Really Elleon? Do you really know someone who would not mind?" she asked. He nodded.
"Yes, and she will keep your secret as well," he replied. He got to his feet and held a hand for her with she eagerly accepted. Tucking her hand neatly around his arm, he led her through the bustle of crowd to the further end, where the people had begun to thin out and there were only a handful of houses. He stopped before a house where there was a woman hanging up some clothes, her back to them. He beckoned her to enter in to the compound but went up to the woman alone. They talked for a while, and Lothíriel thought she heard her name and Dol Amroth being said every now and then. Their talk continued a little longer then the woman turned to Lothíriel with a smile and walked up to her. She curtsied before the princess before standing to face Lothíriel.
"Your highness, I am Elanora, Elleon's sister and I would be honored to be your escort for as long as you need," she said. Lothíriel was quite startled at the directness of it, but welcomed it.
"Thank you for your kindness, but are you sure I am not imposing?" she asked fretfully. Elanora smiled and shook her head.
"No, and I welcome the company as well, housework can be a lonely companion sometimes," she said with a wink and Lothíriel knew that she and Elanora would become great friends. On impulse she leant forward and hugged the woman. Elanora was startled at first but then returned the hug.
And so what started as a pack to keep a visiting princess from withering of boredom blossomed into a wonderful friendship between the two ladies and every morning for that whole week, it was not unlikely to see Elanora and "Leonine"- a visiting cousin- wondering around the market place, and slowly Lothíriel became a familiar face among the Eorlings and at an equal pace began to absorb their culture and language, occasionally being able to converse with the locals with whatever Rohirric she could remember from Elanora's teachings. And it was these outings that kept her spirits up even when having to handle another tiring fight between Éowyn and the seamstress.
However, her happiness was not shared by the other two royals of the family. Éomer was more than a little irked that in the week she had been here, he had not been able to spend any longer than fifteen minutes in her company and Éowyn was downright livid that between training and her stupid dress making sessions she had no time to think of ways to get her brother and Lothíriel together.
"Helena, it's been eight days and nothing! Nothing at all!" she ranted to her friend within the safety of her room. Lothíriel was in bed with a headache so that gave her some time to get her plan working. From her bed, where she was seated cross legged, Helena sighed.
"I don't know Éowyn. Why not let Fate run its course?" she said. Éowyn glared at her.
"Because Fate is a wretched old man who sits idly on his butt and does nothing!" she snapped. Helena grinned at that. Why it was only two days ago that Éowyn was singing praises to Fate and Its powers.
"Fine what do we do?" she said. Éowyn pondered her words.
"I have… no idea," she said in despair before falling on the bed next to her friend. This was hopeless.
That night Éomer sat facing the fire, absent mindedly cleaning his sword while his thoughts wondered aimlessly about the silent halls, stopping most of the times on a certain visiting princess. Éomer sighed again. He didn't which was more torturous: having her live in his home but so far out of reach, or anticipating the day when she would leave his home. All the insecurities he had felt when Wormtongue had lived there reared their ugly head and he was once again confused. He disliked not being able to control the things in his life… like Wormtongue's hold over his uncle and harassment of his sister, his cousin's death, and his friends dying… his thoughts had become so black and ominous that a gentle touch on his shoulder was received as a full frontal attack. He whipped around on the person and pinned her to the wall, the blade of his sword against her neck.
Lothíriel couldn't say anything as she stared into his hate filled eyes, his sword just inches from her neck, his body pressed firmly against hers, preventing any escape. She had passed by and saw him by himself and thought perhaps he would like some companionship. Obviously she was wrong. She watched as the dark eyes quickly gave way to confusion and then anguish. She heard the sword fall to the ground and the heavy body lift off hers.
"Ai, Lothíriel, what have I done! Are you hurt? Please forgive me," Éomer cried out reaching out to feel her neck for any abrasion. She wasn't hurt, but if he didn't stop rubbing her neck so tenderly she may melt into a puddle of mush.
"Éomer, I am fine, really," she said finally and with great effort pushed his hands away. He looked at her a little longer before turning to slump against the sofa. Lothíriel's heart went out for him as she looked at his tired body hunched there. Not unlike her father during the dark times. She moved to sit by his side.
"What's wrong, Éomer?" she asked gently. He was quiet at first.
"I don't think I can do this," he whispered finally. Lothíriel reached out and placed a comforting hand on his slouched back.
"Yes, you can Éomer. It will get easier with time," he said soothingly.
"Easier! It will never get easier to know that hundreds of thousands of people depend on you, that your every decision will affect so many others… that… that I will have to always sacrifice my hearts desire," he turned to look at her as he said the last bit. His feelings showed in his eyes, so easy for her to read.
"Éomer…"
"I wish things were different," he said. Lothíriel looked away, biting her lips. But when she turned back she was composed again.
"I wish it were too, but it isn't" she replied. He sighed.
"Lothíriel… I want you to know that…" he began but she stopped him.
"Don't. Don't say it. Let's leave the words in our hearts, silent, and buried deep within," she said. He nodded. To say it out loud would only invite pain, for both of them. They can lie to others, continue the façade of friendship, and never let it be known that they had fallen in love with each other. The last eight days, even with the least of interactions, had been enough for the feeling to take root. Though it may never flourish, it remained, anchored inside their hearts.
"Friends," he said, pain ripping through his heart with every syllable.
"Friends," she said and wondered… could a broken heart be broken again?
End of Chapter 10
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