Thanks to all who reviewed and encouraged the last chapter.

Just one little note for 'Blue Eyes At Night': I did actually mean a proper mediaeval-style mace complete with spikes and knobbly bits (a la the Witch King of Angmar's weapon o'choice!) and not the pepper spray… J. Glad you enjoyed!

Chapter 6

'Is it true?' demanded Imrahil trembling with rage. 'He hung you from the walls? Upside down?'

Lothíriel cringed visibly. Of course her father would hear of the incident, that guard of the Citadel had the look of a raconteur about him. 'I asked him to…' she started and was cut off by an exclamation of disbelief. Imrahil fumed silently for a moment before saying icily, 'Yes. Of course you did. These lax post-war times foster all sorts of strange and unreasonable practices!' Lothíriel had to swallow a laugh. Even incensed, her father was never lost for a witticism.

'I have spoken to Éomer myself,' he continued, 'and the man is at a loss to explain his behaviour. He professes his undying regret and promises never to do it again. While this is, of course, a relief to any father's heart, it does not excuse it happening in the first place.'

Lothíriel felt a faint sense of disappointment. 'It was not as though he planned it, Father,' she said firmly, 'it just happened. He was just as shocked as I was and he did apologise handsomely to me afterwards.' And promised never to come within a league of me again.

'I should just think so!' stormed Imrahil, 'can you imagine what your mother would have done if I had behaved so to her during our courtship?'

Lothíriel absently allowed herself a moment of silent speculation which was abruptly shattered by Imrahil's next words.

'What a pass we have come to' he groaned, 'Honestly, daughter, I thought nothing could jeopardise this alliance, but as usual I had not banked on your sheer unpredictability!'

'The alliance is off, then?' she asked in shocked tones.

'I should think that a relief to you, daughter!' Imrahil replied, 'if he'll hang you by your heels in Minas Tirith, without even a formal declaration between you, no one can tell what he'll consider appropriate once the pair of you are wed and under his roof!'

Lothíriel sighed heavily, 'So Éomer has forsaken me.'

Imrahil looked at her sympathetically. 'No daughter,' he said finally, 'not Éomer. It was I who forbade the match. You are my only daughter and I love you with all my heart, which incidentally nearly stopped when I heard what had happened on the wall this afternoon. I cannot give you into his care, my child.'

Lothíriel looked up at him stricken by his words, 'But…' she began.

Imrahil cut her off, 'At first, I thought it could be explained away but after speaking to Éomer I realised that it cannot. He himself could not account his actions, he was as horrified as I was, maybe more. And that was what troubled me most of all, child. I know your mettle, I know you cannot resist an opportunity for wit but Éomer is of a different sort to you and I. You cannot play at barbs and courtly witticisms with him and expect no insult to be taken. I was wrong about him, child, he is not the one for you. If he were, he would have chosen another way to deal with however you provoked him on the wall. If anything, this episode has revealed most starkly that you and he are exactly the wrong type for each other. The error was mine, my child. Éomer is a good man, a steady captain in battle and one you would want at your back in a fight, but you, my precious daughter, have the ability to make him lose his head and do things that he obviously regrets later.' Imrahil stroked his daughter's cheek lovingly. 'If you were wed to him, I would not know a moment's peace, my dear,' he said softly, 'I would have to pray nightly that your tongue would hold and his forbearance with it. I must have you wed to a man who will treat you as you ought to be treated, with respect and gentleness.'

'But what if I learned to curb my tongue,' she asked, 'what if I were more careful in my choice of words?'

Imrahil smiled. 'So you, Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, you, will bite your tongue when the opportunity arises to poke fun at your husband? When you have openly called your own noble father an oaf for falling off a horse that you had deliberately spooked? And, lest we forget, the diatribe on manners I received after spitting out a mouthful of food that you had laced with mustard powder?'

'Father! You speak of incidents that are far in my past!' she protested.

'Lothíriel, the mustard incident was barely a year ago!' he answered, 'and besides you are not a woman to change overnight and suppress your nature! And nor should you have to! You are a woman of spirit and wit and should be appreciated as such. I would fear for you, my child, far away surrounded by strangers with no ally to call your own. Anything could happen and the first I would know of it would be a rider of Rohan come to deliver the tidings that Lothíriel of Dol Amroth had finally gone too far and the King found it necessary to have her dragged behind wild horses to teach her a lesson. Alas! For she did not survive the discipline,' he finished with a flourish.

'Oh Father,' she cried, 'but I love him! And I was not afraid on the wall today. I am certain that he would never hurt me.'

Imrahil looked grave. 'I know you love him, my dear and your pain is my doing and my own heart aches for you. But that is half your danger, my child. Your blind trust that he would never harm you. The other half is his loss of control when in your presence.'

Lothíriel shrank inwardly from her father's words. Her head was spinning more dizzily than it had that afternoon. Éomer was lost to her.

'They will soon return to Edoras to bury their late King,' said Imrahil, 'and then the Lady Éowyn will be wed to Faramir here in the city. By then, I hope you will have had sufficient time to recover your poise, my dear.'

Lothíriel murmured an agreement but her heart felt as though it had cracked from one side to the other. Éomer was lost to her.

Éomer paced the chamber as he spoke. His sister usually provided a calm presence which brought his thoughts to order.

'So then she made out that it was a silly whim on her part to be hung from the wall upside down and the Guard, not wishing to call a Lady an outright liar, accepted her explanation!' he said finally.

'But that is not all?' prompted Éowyn gently.

Éomer sighed heavily, 'No. Her father then sought me out for a private audience and unsurprisingly, he forbade the match.'

Éowyn grimaced in sympathy, the story had done the rounds of the city in a matter of moments, or so it seemed. Éowyn could scarcely credit it had not Faramir told her the tale himself. And now she was hearing it from her brother's own lips. He could be a firebrand when roused, no doubt, but this was so unlike him. She had witnessed his growing fascination with Imrahil's daughter and the self-possessed girl had seemed a good match for him so why…?

'Brother, there is one thing that puzzles me…?'

Éomer looked his sister and sighed. 'Why did I hang her from the walls?' he asked wearily. His air was that of a man who had questioned himself at length but without success.

Éowyn nodded. 'You've never acted like that with any other girl you fancied so why this one?'

Éomer looked away and murmured, 'I know not. And that is why Imrahil has forbidden the courtship to go any further. He fears to place his daughter in my hands after today and in truth I cannot blame him. Today's events frightened me more than Lothíriel, I'll warrant.'

'From what you say, she seems to have taken it in good spirit, Éomer,' said his sister, 'she didn't scream and bring the Guards of the Citadel crashing down upon your head. And she spoke up for you when questioned. She would not have acted so if she did not care for you, brother.'

'I know,' said Éomer, 'and that puzzles me. Can you imagine any of the maidens of the Golden Hall doing as she did in those circumstances?'

Brother and sister gave the question some serious thought and burst out laughing together. 'You would have been food for crows before nightfall had you tried that in Edoras,' spluttered Éowyn.

'Aye and it would be no more than I deserve,' he said half-seriously. 'I lost a wife, a valuable alliance for Rohan and possibly the friendship of worthy Prince today, Éowyn. And for the life of me I cannot explain why.' Éomer groaned in frustration and sat down heavily with his head in his hands.

'We will be returning to Edoras soon, brother,' said Éowyn, soothingly, 'once you are home you may find that you think more clearly. The answers will come to you, I'm sure of it.'

'Thank you sister, for my sake I hope you speak truly and not in platitudes,' said Éomer, disconsolately.

Éowyn rolled her eyes and went to sit beside her brother. Drawing back her hand she clipped him smartly around the ear. 'What was that for?' he roared, 'am I not wretched enough? Must you turn on me too?'

'That was for saying I deal in platitudes, dear brother,' she answered serenely, 'and also to wrench you from self-pity. Your answers will come. But in their own time. Be patient and learn not to insult ladies. Such advice will serve you well, my brother!'

Éomer rubbed his smarting ear and wisely decided to preserve a diplomatic silence.