Chapter Eleven
Two days passed since their conversation in the library and the two acted as if it had never taken place. Éomer continued treating her like a beloved friend and Lothíriel continued her charade as Leonine around Edoras. On this particular morning Lothíriel was alone in her exploration as Elanora was busy elsewhere.
"God morgen, Leonine," a lady carrying a basket of apples greeted to her.
"God morgen, Beatrix" she replied waving at her new friend, feeling a little thrill run down her spine at being able to master the language so quickly. She continued her solitary walk, greeting the few familiar faces as she passed them by. It felt good to not be a stranger anymore and she owed it all to Elanora and Elleon. Even Daroth had stayed away from her, though she did occasionally find his stares a little unsettling. She must find a way to repay their generosity before she left. Inhaling the sweet smell of a new day and the more permanent smell of hay that seemed to be fix within Edoras and her people, Lothíriel moved out of the busy market place to the back alley of the city. She noticed once the crowd had thinned that there was small dusty road leading downwards to somewhere that she didn't remember seeing before and decided to venture further down the road.
As she continued further down the steep path, the noise began to fade behind her and she realized that this was an unused part of the city. And no wonder for who could live here? She thought. It was all terrains, not a single flat land. She had to constantly be aware of where she was putting her foot because one wrong step and she would fall head first down the rocky slope. But why would there be a road here if no one lives here? She thought still puzzled. She continued walking the dirt road when it suddenly made a sharp turn into a stone wall. Even more puzzled, Lothíriel walked up towards the stone wall and ran her hands over its rough surface. Looking up she could just make out one of the golden carved horses of Meduseld. She was right by the hill beneath the palace. And by the look of the path, it would seem there was a secret chamber of some sort that must make up some part of the hill, possibly an underground extension of the palace itself. She continued her investigation by pushing against the rock wall as she walked and her efforts paid off when at one point the stone wall gave way and moved open a crack. Putting more energy into her push, she managed to edge the crack a little more until it was big enough for her to squeeze in. Slipping in she waited till her eyes were adjusted to the dark.
What lay before her stunned her. She was standing in a gigantic cave. A stream of water flowed through the middle of the cave from a crack in the cave wall to the fathomless end of the cave. Whatever sunlight that managed to enter through the crack shone against the surface of the water, casting silvery shadows across the walls, allowing Lothíriel to see more of its magnificence. After making sure the hole will not close, Lothíriel edged further into the cave, admiring the splendor of the wet walls and the stalagmites and stalactites. She had seen many caves, seeing that she lived by the sea but none of them had even a bit of the raw beauty this cave had. No doubt it had been formed a long time ago. Then she noticed something that didn't fit. A little inside, there were carvings on the walls eroded from time but she could still get the general idea of it. It looked like horses riding against the wind, their manes blowing wildly behind them. Looking around a little closely she saw large nails and loops nailed into the stone walls. Like what you would see in stables used to tie horse reins to. Sweet Amroth, this was one big stable! Lothíriel gasped. Sometime in the past, possibly even as back as Eorl, this had been used as a safe haven for horses!
"Their love for horses is an obsession," she said to herself, snippets of her words echoing back to her across the caves. Silly Rohirrims, she thought with a laugh and headed back to the outside world. She had to shield her eyes for a few seconds to adjust her vision but once her surroundings were no longer a big blur, Lothíriel headed back up the dusty road back into the heart of the city. She was about to head back to the palace when she remembered to visit Hermés. She had visited him every time since her little escapade, and saw no reason to not do so now. As in the market place, she was a known figure so she had no trouble with the stable-boys. Today, however, would prove to be quite a different visit that the previous days. For when she entered the stable, there wasn't the normal calmness of horses idly eating the oats prepared, but instead a handful of men in one of the paddocks and aggravated mares in the others. There was a foul stench of blood in the air and strangled cries of pain bouncing off the stable walls.
Cautiously so to not attract any unwanted attention, Lothíriel inched closer to the small crowd of people, craning her neck to peer over the tall shoulders. Then as if sensing her thoughts, a few bodies shifted and Lothíriel was given a perfect view of the scene. She had to swallow a shriek at what she saw. On the stable floor writhing in pain was a mare in labor with blood coating her rear end and the hay that had been placed beneath her. Tears pricked her eyes as she heard the painful wail of the horse. She turned away from the bloody sight and wanted to ask someone what was wrong and why no one was helping when a familiar voice drew her attention back to what lay before her. Kneeling beside the mare, his face coated in a thin layer of sweat, his bare chest covered in blood was Éomer. She stared dumbly at him as he bellowed to the people around him. There was a basin of clear water and clean rags next to him, one hand prodding the back of the mare, the other feeling around her pregnant stomach.
Like a jigsaw puzzle it all fell into place. The mare was having difficulty giving birth and Lothíriel knew that if the foal was not taken out soon both would die. She watched as Éomer looked frustratedly at his hands and then the entrance to the mare behind. The foal must be in the wrong birthing position but his hands are too big. He can't go in and assist, she thought. There was another commotion and a young boy was pushed into the scene. He looked frightenedly at the horse then Éomer. Éomer shouted something at him and the boy knelt, his body visibly trembling. Catching a few familiar words, Lothíriel realized that Éomer wanted the boy to put his hand up the mare's rear and grab hold of the foal's legs and turn it around. But he's too scared, he'll end up injuring the horse and himself, she thought and looked wildly about her noticing that the boy's hands were the only one's suitable. And hers. Not wasting anymore time she pushed pass the people before her.
"Onhreran!" she cried and pushed the last resisting force between her and the mare. Once there, she grabbed the boy by his collar and tossed him aside, the sudden adrenaline giving her strength. Ignoring the sudden shocked look of Éomer and the people around her, she pulled back her sleeve, dipping it quickly into the water basin then leveled it with the entrance of the horse's rump.
"Alright, do I go in now?" she asked a still shocked Éomer. He blinked at her but another painful wail from the horse jolted him back.
"Yes, slowly insert your arm, and try to turn the foal around," he said. Nodding she curled her fingers into a small fist and slipped her arm into the birth canal, gagging a little at the smell. She had never done this but feeling around the passage she knew instantly why there was no space for Éomer's hand. The mare was having twins! Once she was ¾ up the canal the mare's uterus gave a violent contraction that made her cry out in pain. Tears glistened in her eyes. It took a long twenty minutes between paroxysms before she was able to feel the foal.
"You're doing great. Just breathe and relax," Éomer said softly from behind her, softly kneading her shoulders as another contraction threatened to squeeze her arm off. Once the pain had resided a little, she nodded.
"Feel for the legs," he said, his words guiding her hand movements. She nodded again, not willing to speak in case she started crying from the pain in her arm.
"Got it? Good, now pull it out. Don't worry, just pull it out," he said and she pulled. Next thing she knew there was a loud sucking sound and in a flurry of blood and mucus a colt popped out of the womb and onto her lap. Shortly later, the second one followed. But the battle was not over yet. Though the foals were in healthy condition, the mare showed no sign of getting better. It just lay there panting, its eyes beginning to close.
"It's dying," Éomer said his voice thick with emotion. Lothíriel looked at him then at her then at the two foals still in her lap.
"No, no it's not! I just put my hand up a horses rear end, and I'll be damned if it was for nothing!" she suddenly yelled. She placed the foals on the straw and moved to the mare's stomach.
"I saw a midwife do this once to a lady who had problems," she panted as she kneads hard the mare's stomach. Éomer caught on and quickly assisted her. They worked for a couple more minutes as others watched and their efforts paid off when the mare expelled a huge afterbirth. There was a still moment as everyone held their breaths and could only watch the silent mare. But then she opened her eyes and after a few tries successfully got to her feet. Her babies which had been cleaned immediately went up to her and began to nurse.
Lothíriel just watched, still panting a little hard from her efforts.
"You saved her life," he spoke softly next to her. She turned and suddenly became a little shy. She wanted to reply but found herself engulfed in a tight hug. It took her several seconds before she could return his hug. All that she could think of at that moment was how silky his bare skin was under her palms. They pulled away when they realized that there was cheering in the stables. Looking around they saw people were dancing and clapping.
"They are cheering for you," he said. Lothíriel blushed.
"I didn't do anything any other person wouldn't have done. It was just lucky that I have small hands," she said. He grabbed those hands in question and squeezed them tight.
"A blessing," he said and she felt her face become redder.
"Don't do that, I am getting blood all over you," she said. He looked at her then reached out for the wet rags and began cleaning them himself. Lothíriel was spellbound as she watched his larger hands work on hers, slowly removing the blood and mucus from between her fingers, on her palms, up towards her elbow and up some more to her shoulder. She closed her eyes to heighten her senses even more. What a wonderful feeling, she thought just only able to suppress a moan of pleasure. She didn't however manage to prevent a whimper of protest when he let go of her hands. She opened her eyes and saw her grinning at her. She picked up some hay and threw it at him which was granted a laugh from him. She watched as he stood up, flexing his tired muscles as he did so and once again she was transfixed at how beautiful he was. She barely noticed her own hand going out to take his as he helped her to her feet. Only when she was fully standing did he realize what she was wearing.
"Princess, what in Eorl are you wearing?" he asked. Lothíriel bit her lip at that. Ah, her charade had been discovered. She was however spared from answering him for that moment when two men approached them, one holding a foal in each arm. They spoke with Éomer for a while and he nodded.
"Princess, we would be honored to have you name our two new additions," he said and instantly the stable grew quiet.
"Me? But I…"
"You're the reason all three are alive, it is only right," he quickly interrupted. She nodded and turned to the foals.
"Here, tie the ribbon around their necks as you name them," Éomer said again and hander her two blue ribbons. She looked at the two again, wondering what she would call them. They had fought a fierce battle too be here and should be named appropriately. Ah, she had it.
"I shall name thee Ferô, and thee Feôhtän, and may you both prove to be the fighting spirit of the warriors that will ride you one day," she said and tied the ribbon around each of the foal's necks. Lothíriel then turned to Éomer with a smile. But the king did not return it as he just stood there and stared at her. She then realized so was everyone else.
"Did I say it wrong? Please forgive me, I am still new in learning your language," she said despairingly. Oh had she just humiliated herself?
"No, that was perfectly said, Princess. Thank you," he said and took one her hand, dropping a kiss to the back of the palm, all the while keeping his eyes on hers.
"Your highness never has a noble woman done what you have done, not even a woman of Rohan born," one of the men holding the foal said.
"Aye, you truly are the Lady of the Horse," the second man interjected and as one they bowed to her. Éomer stepped back from her and he too bowed his head to her.
"Hǽgl, Faemne of Mearh! Hail, Lady of the Horse!" he said loudly.
"Hǽgl, Faemne of Mearh! Hail, Lady of the Horse!" cried the others and the tears she had held back began to flow down her cheeks.
"So what adventures will Leonine be having this morn?" Éomer asked as he casually buttered his toast not looking at the princess who had suddenly gone a little red. Ever since Lothíriel had entertained her hosts with her stories as Leonine, Éomer had lost no chance in teasing her every chance he got.
"Your majesty, before you continue further in your teasing, may I remind you that it was I who saved two foals of yours," said Lothíriel in mock huff. Éomer just laughed and nodded.
"You do not have to remind me, princess, that is all the people of this city are talking about," he said winking at her. Yes, he made light of her feat, but inside he was eternally grateful for what she had done.
"Then its best that their king remember it as well. Imagine what would happen if it accidentally got around Middle Earth that it was a simple Dol Amroth princess who was the one responsible for saving a great Rohirrim steed as their king, supposedly lords of horses, just stood around helpless?" she said raising her eyebrows. Éomer's eyes widen and he raised himself to his full sitting down height.
"Princess, you dare threaten a great king as myself? Careful I do not throw your beautiful self into the gallows," he growled, but that only caused Lothíriel to laugh.
"Your prison can not hold me, your majesty, your people adore me after what I have done, they will not have me imprison," she replied haughtily. Éomer grinned and looked at her.
"They are not the only ones who adore you," he said quietly, his teasing mood subdued. Lothíriel understood the meaning and her gaze fell to her breakfast plate, she suddenly feeling shy.
Éowyn, yes she was present too although gone unnoticed by the two, watched their exchanged with great satisfaction. Her plan and all right Amrothos' as well, was working wonderfully. More than wonderful in fact. Now what excuse could Éomer possible come up with to NOT marry Lothíriel? As the princess said, the people of Rohan adore her. In her glee she let out a little laugh.
"And what tickles you today sister?" Éomer asked, her laughter catching both their attention. Éowyn realized her mistake and grinned guiltily at them. She couldn't possibly tell them of "The Plan".
"Uhmm, well… I was just thinking… how coincidental it is that Éomer as king is Lords of Horses and you are dubbed Lady of the Horse," she said mentally patting her back for her quick thinking and even more when Lothíriel turned bright red. Even Éomer began to flush red around the neck.
"Purely coincidental I am sure," Lothíriel said. Éowyn nodded but grinned mischievously. Éomer just rubbed his neck not really knowing what to say. Lothíriel gave her a hostile look.
"I am sure there is no significance behind it," Lothíriel said again, this time her tone firmer. Éowyn nodded again but her grin grew as well. Ooh, she couldn't wait to tell Helena about this. Or Amrothos. Both will be equally excited about the "coincidence". They sat in awkward silence, as Éomer didn't know what to say without causing Lothíriel to turn redder, Lothíriel was silently wondering if it was a coincidence and Éowyn was bathing in her triumph and intellect not to mention her brother's uncomfortableness.
However, the moment was interrupted when Feälef entered. He bowed to them then turned to address his king.
"Your Majesty, Lord Beorn and Lord Dacre have arrived," he said. Éomer nodded and stood up.
"Please excuse me my ladies, duty calls" he said to his sister and guest. They both nod and with a last smile to them Éomer and Feälef headed to his study, where matter of state usually took place. But just as he rounded the corner he used the opportunity to glance one last time at the princess who was it seems was frowning at something Éowyn was happily stating.
"She is quite lovely, is she not?" Feälef's calm voice pulled his thoughts back from the princess. Éomer looked at him blankly.
"Who?" he asked. Feälef just about managed to refrain from rolling his eyes.
"Do not play games with me Éomer. I am too old to humor you," he said wryly. Éomer grinned.
"Yeah, she is," he admitted.
"And more importantly a wonderful person, not to mention very impressive, and she does seem to have the peoples favor," Feälef continued. Éomer began to cringe inwards. Unlike the rest of Rohan, Feälef was of the same thinking as Éowyn. He had no troubles serving a foreign queen.
"Feälef, do not do this to me. Unless you can definitely tell me that she will be accepted as queen, not someone who pulled two foals out a horse's rear, but as queen, then I will ask her to marry me," he said. Feälef sighed. He was getting tired of the 'people's need outweigh my need' crap. Théoden had not cared; Theodred would not have cared so he couldn't understand why Éomer DID care.
"Fine, let her slip through your fingers. It baffles me how you can be smart yet stupid all in one moment," he said. Éomer said nothing but fixed his adviser a glare to kill. Naturally Feälef remained unperturbed. They reached Éomer's study in silence.
"Beorn, Dacre, Helfast greetings to you three," Éomer greeted as he entered the big room and went to sit in his seat. Lord Helfast, Dacre and Beorn alongside some others had stood when he entered then once again took their seats when Éomer had seated.
"Greetings, your majesty, and how do you fare?" Dacre asked. Éomer nodded.
"I have been well, though I wouldn't pass any opportunities to go riding," he said and glared at Feälef as he said this, who again remained composed. Dacre and Beorn smiled. Sad was the man who sat on his throne. Helfast just grinned. Feälef has finally gotten his revenge on his truant student.
"Revenge is a dish best served cold, am I right Counselor Feälef?" said Helfast. Feälef just looked at him innocently.
"Dear friend, what are you talking about? I have no need for revenge," he answered. Éomer growled at the two.
"We are here to discuss matters of importance, not exchange childish chatter," he snapped and to his frustration, Helfast and Feälef's smile grew bigger. If only he hadn't grown up under their care as well as Théoden, and loved them like brothers, he would lock those two up in his darkest of dungeons. Deciding to ignore the two he turned to the other two lords.
"Come, what tidings do you bring of your clan?" he said, all thoughts of petty vengeance gone as he listened attentively to Beorn and Dacre as well as their advisers who updated Éomer on the state of their lands and its people. Éomer nodded as their reports were glowing with satisfaction, a sign that things were turning for the best.
"And your boundaries? Are they safe as well?" he asked. Here, Dacre began to fidget a little.
"Well, your majesty, there have been sightings of the people of Dunlands. So far they are of no threat, and have not been seen to be in more than five a crowd at one time. They do not ride even, but walk to wherever they head," said Dacre. Éomer frowned at this. Dunlendings were never a good sign, whether they were simply passing by or charging with a spear.
"But they do not disturb the peace?" Helfast asked, his attention caught by the sudden news. Dacre shook his head.
"No, they do not," he confirmed.
"Leave them be, for last I heard they are too war torn to be of any threat, but do not relax your patrols. They may be poverty stricken but the cunning minds of the Dunlands have been known to cause more harm," said Éomer. Dacre nodded.
"Helfast, send some scouts to cover the perimeter of Rohan for any unusual activity," he said as his captain nodded.
"And you Beorn, what of your borders?" Éomer asked.
"We have had no sightings of any hostile beings, human or creatures, but I have taken measures in tightening the border guards, just in case," he answered.
"That is a wise move. We can never be too careful. Both your clans are out of the city walls, if anything should happen your towns will be attacked first. So be constantly alert and always have a messenger at disposal," he said seriously. He had learnt from experience that Dunlendings were no laughing matter.
"Is there any more that needs to be addressed?" he asked. Dacre shook his head but this time it was Beorn's turn to fidget. Dacre glanced at him and frowned. This was not lost to Éomer.
"Beorn, you seem uncomfortable. And why does Dacre send you warning looks?" he asked. If possible, Beorn looked even more uncomfortable.
"My lord, as you know, I am here only as proxy to my father, who is the true Clan leader, but is unfortunately bedridden," he began. Éomer nodded and Dacre's frown grew creating much to the curiosity of the captain and counselor.
"He wishes to make you an offer, my lord," said Beorn fidgeting even more. Éomer feared for the man as he may fall of his seat soon from all the squirming.
"Go on, Beorn, it can not be that bad," said Éomer encouragingly. Inhaling deeply Beorn decided to lay it down straight.
"He would like to offer his youngest daughter to his majesty as wife," he said in one breath. The room went silent. Éomer just blinked at Beorn, not truly comprehending what was said. Youngest daughter? Wife? His wife?
"Your sister? Your father is offering your sister to me?" he said still unsure. Miserably, Beorn nodded. No doubt he had offended his king.
"But why?" Éomer asked. He was truly shocked. One look at Feälef and Helfast and they were stunned as well. It had never been done in Rohan history. Usually the king would be the one asking the guardians for a maiden's hand in marriage.
"Please do not be offended your majesty, he is an old man and being bedridden has done funny things to his mind," said Beorn quickly.
"No, I am not offended, just a little surprised. But do tell, why or what has triggered such a reaction from your father?" he answered. At this point Beorn had gone absolutely pale. Would it be more disastrous to answer or to not answer? He thought miserably.
"Your king asked you a question, Beorn," Helfast said, narrowing his eyes slightly. Beorn swallowed hard.
"Tis only that, my father wishes to … serve a Rohan born queen at least once before he dies," Beorn stammered out. That statement was greeted with tensed silence. No one spoke and Beorn wished he had told his wife and children he loved them before setting off for the meeting, for no doubt King Éomer was going to throw him into the dungeons.
But Éomer was not thinking of any sort of punishment. In fact his whole body had turned to lead for him to think or feel anything. He had always known it but to hear it out in the open, to his face… he just wasn't prepared.
"And what of you Dacre? What do the clansmen of Eowain say?" he asked quietly. Dacre had every intention of lying, even at the risk of dishonor, just so he wouldn't have to see the pallid look of his king when…
"And answer upon the honor of your house," Éomer added instinctively knowing Dacre's intention. Dacre was willing to forfeit his honor but not his clan's.
"There are a few that would wish the same as Beorn's father, your majesty," he answered softly, not looking at his king. Feälef in haled deeply and Helfast gripped the armrest of his chair. They are fools! Helfast thought inwardly. Éomer's face had turned completely ash grey and Feälef's heart cried for his former student.
"Éomer, it is just talk, do not take it to heart," said Feälef. If he gets his hand on Beorn's father, he'll strangle that old man himself, bedridden or not. Feälef knew that old Lord Bergen had never liked the people of Gondor after a skirmish that happened more than three decades ago and had always held a grudge against the past queens, who had been from Gondor. But this… insult, not only on the king, but their guest, was the last straw. How dare he fuel the minds of his clan and other clans of thoughts against Princess Lothíriel? For that was exactly was it was. Feälef was not the advisor to the king and representative of his people for nothing. He knew of the rumors circulating that Princess Lothíriel may be the next queen, and by the way Éomer reacted around her it would have eventually become true. Or at least it would have.
To his left Helfast was thinking the same thing, although his method of "teaching the old man" was completely different that Feälef. His had a lot more blood in it. Honestly, the nerve of that old man. Oh, Helfast was quite aware of Éomer's I'll only marry a Rohirrim lady bullshit but he also knew that it would just remain words, for what he saw of the king when the princess was around confirmed his suspicions that the king was indeed in love with the princess and the feeling was mutual. It was just a matter of days, perhaps weeks when Éomer's inhibitions would break and he would ask Lothíriel to marry him. Personally, Helfast wouldn't mind serving her, for she had earned a high place in his books of respect after the incident with mare, as, he was sure, everyone else in Rohan. Well, nearly everyone, he thought as he glared at Beorn. The poor man was sitting in his seat looking like the world had ended.
The silence continued as they entertained their own thoughts. Finally Éomer, who had slumped in his seat straightened. He no longer looked trouble as his features took on an indifferent look.
"Tell your father, I will consider his offer," he said and promptly got to his feet, completely ignoring Feälef's shock and Helfast's outraged face. He didn't have the energy to deal with them right now. He was going for a ride. He wanted… no, needed to feel the refreshing wind in his face and perhaps clear the cobwebs that had formed within his head. He nodded briefly to Lord Beorn and Lord Dacre before leaving the hall, but as he was about to close the door, he heard one of the young advisors, possibly Lord Dacre's, say:
"I would like to see a Rohirrim on the throne," and the sound of flesh hitting flesh.
In another part of the palace, Lothíriel sighed wearily as her nimble fingers created another perfect stitch. She had no idea how Éowyn had managed to manipulate her into sewing silver stars onto the borders of her veil. Ah, yes, it was when she conveniently forgot to tell me her veil was three feet long, thought Lothíriel, as another perfect stitch was sewn.
So here she was stuck in a hot stuffy room while Éowyn was outside enjoying the sun and fresh air. Ah well, she had agreed to help and though this hovered on the verge of slavery, she'll let it pass. The sound of muffled talking caught her attention and while still sewing, Lothíriel craned her neck to look out the window she was seated by. The window gave her a nice view of the entrance to Meduseld and little snips of the city. A few men were mounting their horses, their faces contorted in a frown and one man was looking extremely angry. She saw also Feälef and Helfast standing nearby and they did not look pleased as well. Oh dear, what trouble is brewing in Rohan? she thought with a little dread.
"Your highness is there something interesting outside?" asked one of the seamstresses in the room. Lothíriel pulled back and shook her head.
"No I was just watching the leaving of some men, they do not seem very happy," she added. The lady, Delowen, stood up and walked to the window.
"Hmm, those are the second and third marshal of the Mark. I do hope things are well with the Clan of Eowain and Ethias," she said.
"Clan?" Lothíriel asked. What is a clan?
"Yes. What you see in Edoras is just a handful of the people of Rohan your highness," said Delowen. Another lady, Nalin, nodded.
"You can not see it from here but there are two other smaller cities on neighboring hills, a clan," Nalin continued. Lothíriel nodded. How fascinating.
"And are the people of Edoras a clan?" she asked. Delowen nodded.
"Yes, we are the Clan Mearas, there is Clan Eowain and Clan Ethias," she said.
"And they are the clan leaders?" she asked indicating to the men still standing outside, a small quarrel had broken out. Delowen frowned at this but nodded to the princess's question.
"Aye, the man with the white tabard is Lord Beorn, the son of the Clan leader of Ethias, but is acting in his father's place and the other man in green is, Lord Dacre the Clan leader of Eowain," she said. By then Nalin had joined them at the window.
"You can not see it from here, but on their saddles is their coat of arms. The Crest of Eowain is a prancing white horse between two bound sheaves of grass from which long-swords rise, on a background of green, while Crest of Ethias is a silver fist on red background," said Nalin. Lothíriel looked at them again and nodded.
"And Lord Beorn and Dacre are also second and third marshal of the mark?" she said, slowly understanding their culture. It was so different, in Dol Amroth there were no subdivided groups of people. Everyone was a Dol Amrothian. The two ladies nodded. Lothíriel then remembered having seen the crest describe, mounted on a wall heading towards the throne room. But hadn't there been a third?
How about the third clan? Clan Mearas isn't it?" she asked. Nalin nodded.
"Yes, the Mearas Clan are the people residing here in Edoras, named in honor of the noble breed of horses first tamed by Eorl, we are lead by the king himself and are held in the highest regard by the other two clans," Nalin continued.
"The Crest of Mearas is a galloping horse on green background, is it not?" asked Lothíriel though she knew as she had seen the crest before. Delowen and Nalin both nodded and exchanged a glance between each other. So the princess was not completely ignorant of Rohirrim culture, they thought to themselves. But Lothíriel had looked out the window again, watching the men finally ride away and had missed the look between the two ladies.
Her attention was brought back to the room when the door opened and a third person entered. She bowed to Lothíriel and Lothíriel remembered her being one of Éowyn's serving ladies. Wynen, if she was not mistaken.
"And what brings you here, child?" Delowen asked.
"I would like to help, Lady Éowyn does not need me for now," she replied a little unsure of her westernese, but Lothíriel smiled encouragingly. She felt honored that they would try to master a foreign language for her benefit.
"You are a godsend, for we could use all the help we can get," she said to the young girl waving around the mess in the room. Wynen laughed and happily picked up a piece of cloth that had blue brocade sewn halfway trough it.
"So what news do you bring from the outside world, Wynen?" Nalin then asked.
"This is probably idle gossip, but there is news that Lord Beorn has brought an offer to King Éomer," she said. Lothíriel suddenly perked up at his name, but maintained an outside show of calmness.
"An offering?" Nalin and Delowen asked simultaneously. Wyden nodded.
"Lord Bergen, Lord Beorn's father," she added the bit for Lothíriel's benefit, "is offering his youngest daughter to King Éomer as his wife," she continued. Lothíriel's hands froze in mid air and her insides froze over. Lucky for her, the other two ladies were too busy being shocked to notice.
"What! Has the old man gone senile? She is barely seventeen, and never has such a thing been done!" cried Nalin.
"Why would he do such a stupid thing?" added Delowen. Wynen hesitated a little.
"Speak child!" snapped Delowen.
"Lord Bergen wants a Rohan-born to be queen, and the two clans are showing their support for his cause," Wyden blurted out in her shock at the reprimand. Instantly the room went silent and the three ladies looked cautiously at the princess. But Lothíriel didn't notice, her frozen insides having just shattered into a million pieces. Yes, she knew what Éomer had told her, but she couldn't help to hope, especially when he had nonverbally told her he loved her, she just couldn't but help to hope that perhaps there was a possibility their love would triumph.
So much pain.
"What does King Éomer say to that?" Delowen asked softly.
"He… said he'll consider the offer then disappeared," answered Wyden equally soft. So that was how it was, Lothíriel thought. What ever remained of her heart had completely broken. Tears pooled in her eyes but she blinked them away. Pain engulfed her being but she smothered it. She will not show her weakness. She will be strong… and she will be happy. Somehow. She had survived losing Boromir, what was another man? Of course, the pain she felt when Boromir hadn't been this intense, like a knife slicing into her, over and over again, but she will not surrender to it. Her wounds will heal. She was a fighter and most importantly, she was a survivor. She will survive this.
She had to.
Éowyn just stared between the two of them, not at all understanding what had brewed between them to result in such moodiness. Had they fought? But what on earth did they fight about? She thought. Éowyn had returned from her training to join her brother and friend for their noon meal and was instead greeted with silence as the two sat at the table, not talking not looking at each other.
Where had the morning's teasing and cheeriness gone? Éowyn had tried to strike a conversation with both of them but her efforts were replied with small nods from the princess and/or grunts from her brother. Neither of them were eating either, which she definitely didn't understand as she had polished two plates of food. But that could be because she was extremely hungry from her lessons.
Éowyn looked at her brother from the corner of her eyes, and as if sensing it Éomer briefly looked at her then down again. But that was enough for Éowyn to see the fear and despair lurking in the murkiness of his blue eyes and she was sincerely surprised at that. She would have to remember to speak to her brother later that evening. He may also provide an answer why Lothíriel was sullen as well.
Suddenly, the door leading into the dining hall burst open and Helfast ran in, horror marring his warrior face. Éomer and Éowyn both rose to their feet, their heart beating madly in apprehension. What had happened?
"Your majesty," Helfast panted.
"What is it? Helfast what is it?" cried Éomer urgently.
"Dunlendings sighted just at the border. A whole army of them," Helfast panted. Éomer's face grew stony and his lips thinned dangerously. Muttering an excuse to a horrified Éowyn and confused Lothíriel, he stormed out, Helfast hot on his heels.
"Éowyn what happened?" Lothíriel asked after a few seconds of silence. Éowyn turned her shocked eyes to the princess.
"Dunlendings," she replied much to Lothíriel's frustration. What are Dunlendings?
"Éowyn, elaborate please," she asked desperately.
"Dunlendings are evil, dishonorable men that live to the north of Rohan and have spent years terrorizing our people. They are cunning and attack in the most underhanded ways. More Eorlings have died in the hands of a Dunland than an orc, and now they are preparing to wage a war with us. We shall just have to crush them before they get a chance!" she spat, her once stricken eyes replaced by fury.
Lothíriel was stunned and more than scared at hearing the words. Rohan was under attack where there would definitely be casualties. Warfare was about to begin… and Éomer would be at the forefront. No! He's king; he does not have to ride as well… right?
"Éomer will ride as well?" she asked, afraid to hear the answer. Éowyn gave her a funny look.
"Of course. And I will ride by him," she said and walked away, leaving Lothíriel with her words ringing in the princess's ears. Of course, Éomer will ride into battle.
A battle where he may not return.
End of Chapter 11
(6,689 words)