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Chapter 2 – Time to Reflect
The day was a fine one and Lothíriel was grateful that it saw her back in Belfalas. The embarrassment of the Minas Tirith visit could now be consigned to memory (at least temporarily) and she could safely bury herself in her father's realm. They had arrived home late last night and upon awakening that morning Lothíriel had eaten a hasty breakfast standing up in the kitchens whilst waiting for her mare to be saddled.
The groom smiled at her and said, 'She's missed you, my Lady,' before handing her the reins.
'No more than I've missed her, Halbarn,' she'd replied.
In a few minutes, Nimrodel (named partly to annoy her father with his endless carryings on about their Elven heritage) took her beyond the confines of the fortress and into the wide plains surrounding them. Lothíriel set off at random, giving the black mare her head. After half an hour of frantic galloping, they found themselves adrift on a sea of grass. Nimrodel slowed to a gentle walk and then stopped when she spied some tender green blades to crop. Lothíriel looked around carefully, there was not a soul to be seen. Good.
Slipping from the saddle, Lothíriel quickly hobbled the mare and finally took a deep breath of her native air. It was good to be home! A knot of tension loosened in her belly. The freedom of the open plains and the peaceful sighing of the wind through the plain soothed her more than anything else could have. Opening her mouth, Lothíriel gave voice to the frustration she had carried within her since Minas Tirith. Arms wide and head thrown to the sky, she screamed herself hoarse, with no audience but Nimrodel who had seen her mistress indulge in this strange pastime before and wasn't unduly concerned by it.
Once spent, Lothíriel exhaled gustily and sank down to lie on the soft grass. Now that she had rid herself of the worst of it, she could be at peace and think awhile. In truth she had much to think on.
Lothíriel could not stop herself cringing when she remembered the Faint. Thinking back, she was at a loss as to why she should have collapsed as she did. It wasn't as though she made a habit of it. By nature, Lothíriel had a straightforward character with no affectations of womanly weakness. In Belfalas, she was known for her directness and total lack of dissembling. The news of her swooning like a fool of a girl would not easily be believed by any who knew her well.
Her father had caught her as she fell but it was Éomer's green eyes she remembered hovering over hers as she drifted down into blackness.
Éomer and Imrahil had carried her indoors and revived her in the cool of the stone chambers. Her weakness had lasted only a few moments, but the shame would last forever. Because she had never fainted before, her father had been seriously worried for a while. Once he was sure it had just been a momentary weakness and nothing more, he had let Éomer depart to enjoy the rest of the pageantry. The King of Rohan had seemed reluctant to leave them but Imrahil assured him they would be all right. Lothíriel could barely bring herself to murmur her thanks to him for his assistance and had been most grateful to see him leave. Once he was safely out of sight, Lothíriel had buried her face in her hands and begged her father to let her sit out the rest of the wedding celebrations in their chambers.
'Oh no, my dear,' Imrahil had answered, 'you won't be getting out of your duties that easily!'
'Oh Father!' she had cried in near desperation, 'you can't mean it! Have I not done enough? Insulting the King of Rohan and his sister wasn't sufficient? Perhaps I could spill wine on the Queen's wedding dress? Or start a war with the Dwarves?'
A rebellious tone had risen in her voice and Imrahil held his hands up placatingly.
'It's not so bad as all that,' he said, 'so calm yourself.'
Lothíriel subsided into mutinous despair.
'Now, my dear, there is something I would like to you to think on,' said her father carefully.
She looked at him ominously, storm clouds gathering in her grey eyes, 'Father, I am in no fit state for thinking!'
Imhrahil ignored her.
'I know you have been giving much thought to your eventual marriage and it is something that I too, naturally, have considered,' he said, 'and I believe I have found a suitable match for you at last.'
Lothíriel watched her father like a cat. His face had always been an open one and she could read his mind quite clearly…
'No,' she said firmly.
'Yes,' he said just as firmly.
Lothíriel sat bolt upright in the grass as futile regret rippled through her at the memory.
And there in the stone chamber, it had all come out. Imrahil and Éomer had found themselves fighting side by side in the last desperate campaign to defeat the Dark Lord and they had found much to admire in one another. Whilst Imrahil had come away thinking he had found a husband worthy of Lothíriel, Éomer simply thought he had found a new ally for Rohan. Imrahil had not mentioned Lothíriel to his new friend, but unbeknownst to Lothíriel, he had arranged that Éomer stand close by her during the royal wedding. Imrahil had no intention of forcing an awkward introduction upon his daughter or Éomer so he contrived that they should meet under as natural a circumstance as possible. After all, weddings were well known to beget more weddings…
'And sure enough, daughter,' he concluded, 'a more memorable introduction would have been impossible to plan! Éomer shall not forget Lothíriel of Dol Amroth in a hurry!' He'd laughed then, to her fury.
'In fact, I think Éomer is more than a bit taken with you. I knew he would be,' he added, thoughtfully, ignoring her outrage.
'It matters not, father,' Lothíriel had replied, icily, 'for I am not taken with him in the slightest! He's gigantic! It hurts my neck to look up at him!'
'Oh, and the King? He would have been too tall for you too, I expect?' said her father wryly. For all knew that the Kings of Gondor and Rohan were nearly of equal height.
'Well, one could learn to put up with a lot, if one were married to a King!'
'Éomer is a King, my dear,' her father pointed out mildly.
'A King of a far away land, that I do not know!' she had retorted. Lothíriel had subsided then for a moment when suddenly the thought occurred to her…
'Éomer!' she said urgently, 'does he know of your intentions?'
Imrahil gazed back at her, 'No, my dear, he does not. My hope was that you and he would meet here at Minas Tirith and come up with the idea yourselves.'
'Well, there is little chance of that now,' said Lothíriel, blushing anew at the memory of her encounter with the King of Rohan.
'Oh, I don't know about that. But this little discussion has certainly put the colour back in your cheeks,' her father had said approvingly, 'come! It is time we entered the Great Hall for the feasting. Come! I will allow no delay!'
So Lothíriel had found herself making a re-appearance at the royal wedding. She kept her composure admirably and even managed to make tolerably courteous conversation with the new King and his bride. Arwen was quite gracious in her way and Lothíriel found herself put quite at ease in the Queen's company.
The worst moment by far was being introduced to Éowyn. With her father at her elbow and Éomer making the actual introduction, Lothíriel had been quite sure she would expire from the awkwardness of it all. But Éomer had been gallant enough not to mention Lothíriel's earlier rudeness to anyone. To her pleasure, she found much to admire in Éowyn's character though it was bitterly obvious that the Steward of Gondor was blind to all others but her.
The rest of the night had passed in an agonisingly slow blur of song, wine and merriment. Lothíriel had been longing for bed for hours before she was allowed to retire. Once locked alone inside she had no trouble falling deeply asleep. They had only another week at Minas Tirith before they returned home and Lothíriel hoped the days would pass quietly without incident. A vain hope as it turned out.
The next day, Imrahil had called upon her after she had risen and breakfasted.
'Ah, my dear,' he had said brightly, 'good news! We are invited to dine with the Kings of Gondor and Rohan this evening. Your cousin, the Steward, will be in attendance also. I understand he will have a personal announcement to make.'
Lothíriel stiffened and glared at her father. 'Please convey my regrets, Father, I am unwell and cannot attend.'
'Nonsense!' answered her father, 'you look fine to me and I know that Éomer would relish your society again. He cannot stop talking about you!'
Lothíriel threw her eyes to heaven and made a rude noise.
'Father, stop pretending. Your design is revealed,' she said, flatly, 'you wish me to make a match with the King of Rohan, but I know you! You would never force me to a marriage not to my liking. You know this as well as I, so why keep forcing the question? It is fruitless, I tell you! What chance, if any, I had with him was ruined with my ill-chosen remarks about his sister. All I feel when in his company is the desire to burn speedily to death and have the ashes honourably dispersed!'
Imrahil cast his eyes to the heavens at this and Lothíriel threw her up hands in a gesture of helplessness, 'Please do not prolong this torture, Father, please just let this inspiration of yours drop! I cannot stand being in the man's company, his very presence fills me with shame. I beg you, abandon this matter!'
Imrahil remained silent during her heartfelt plea and remained quiet a few moments longer. Lothíriel watched him as he paced the room.
At length he paused and looked at her long and hard.
'Lothíriel,' he began, 'you must know that every father wants to do right by his children and wants only the best for them. And so all I have done is for the sake of your happiness. Think back, my dear. Have I ever pushed even one suitor upon you?'
Lothíriel shook her head. It was true, Imrahil had never suggested that she favour one lord over another. There had never been even the slightest hint of paternal pressure on her in that respect.
'Part of the reason that I never did so is selfishness, my dear,' Imrahil continued, 'since your mother's death you have been the light of my home and I have put off the day of your leaving. But even laying that aside, there is another reason. I had not found a man suitable to be your husband until now, Lothíriel. Éomer is not just a good man and a King, my child, he is also the only man to whom I would surrender you.'
Lothíriel listened with head bowed and then she asked, 'Why, Father? Why him? Why do you set your heart on Éomer for me?'
To this Imrahil had smiled and said, 'That is a difficult one to answer, my dear and I will not try. Suffice it to say that I leave you the pleasure of resolving that question for yourself.'
'Cryptic talk and confusion! That is all you offer me,' Lothíriel cried in exasperation, 'am I to have no more guidance than that?'
'I would think, Lothíriel, that my selection of a suitable husband would have been guidance enough!' he'd answered tartly, 'will you not trust your own father in this? Give Éomer a chance to prove me right! Put aside your childish awkwardness with the man! You can be sure he does not dwell upon a few "ill-chosen remarks". If anything, the incident afforded him a few moments amusement and nothing more. Just give him a chance, Lothíriel, you won't regret it.'
With that he left the chamber pausing only once at the door to bid her be ready to dine at the appointed hour. Lothíriel thought long and hard on what he her father had said, turning his words over in her head. Try as she might, she could find no flaw in his reasoning.
Her father was a true Prince, a man of royal blood and noble to the bone. She knew he would only ever have her best interests at heart and that was what finally made up her mind. With a huge mental effort she banished the memory of the previous day's events and decided to take her father's advice. She would give Éomer a chance.
Lying back on the soft grass now, watching the clouds scudding across the blue sky, Lothíriel thought back on all that had happened in the week since she made that decision and wondered how everything could have gone so terribly wrong.
It had started at the dinner that very night, she concluded. Despite her best intentions, the seeds of disaster had been well and truly sown…