That evening there was a banquet in the Golden Hall, festive and boisterous, quite unlike the feasts Lothíriel was accustomed to. There was much mead and song and laughter. Due to the weariness of the road, Lothíriel was more want to observe than to participate, but she remained awake far longer than was her custom, watching and enjoying this strange new place, so unlike what she knew. It was easy to perceive how Théodred had come by his heartiness and jovial nature.
The funeral was not to take place until the third evening after their arrival. The next morning, Lothíriel was surprised to find herself waking alone in the ladies' appointed chamber, and by the light streaming through the window, she deemed the hour was quite late in the morning. She had just managed to achieve a sitting position when the door came bursting open, admitting the form of a pretty young girl, perhaps thirteen or fourteen years of age, wearing a simple gown and bearing a load of linens in her arms.
"Oh!" the girl cried, staring at Lothíriel in surprise. "You are awake, my Lady," she said, giving a quick curtsey, and rather aimlessly placed her linens on the bed nearest Lothíriel's before turning around. "I must tell the Lady Éowyn," she declared, and as abruptly as she'd come, fled out the door.
When Éowyn herself arrived a few minutes later, Lothíriel was already adjusting the laces on the side of her over-gown. "Here," said Éowyn, stepping forward, "let me help you with those." Grateful for the assistance, Lothíriel allowed Éowyn to straighten the most stubborn of the ties. "I was beginning to believe you would sleep the day away," Éowyn said as she worked.
"I did not realize I was so tired," Lothíriel confessed.
"Now you are rested," Éowyn declared with confidence and a smile, straightening from finishing with Lothíriel's gown, "and you shall be shown around Edoras. Éomer has requested that I look after you while you are here." Her eyes softened. "I know we did not have much chance to become acquainted in Minas Tirith. Perhaps now we might make up for the lost time."
"I should like that very much, my Lady."
Éowyn laughed. "Nay, Lothíriel. We should have been cousins. Perhaps we may yet be sisters, but at the very least we shall be friends and equals. Please, call me Éowyn."
Lothíriel returned this with a smile. "Very well." Then, feeling strangely bold, she peered at the other woman shrewdly. "From what I can tell," she said, "we may yet be cousins. I saw a look upon Faramir's face yestereve that I have never seen upon it before."
Éowyn's eyes widened and she stared at Lothíriel amazedly for a moment before laughing with delight. Then she took Lothíriel's arm and leaned in to whisper, "Perhaps you are right. But please hold your peace on this matter for a few days' time. Then you shall see."
It was evident from the start that Éowyn knew every particular of Éomer's proposal to Lothíriel. And though the two ladies became fast and easy friends, Lothíriel noted that Éowyn did not allow this friendship to interfere with her purpose in showing Lothíriel what it would be to become the most important woman in Rohan.
"Life in the court of Edoras is not as that to which you are accustomed," she said without shame as they walked among the streets below the Golden Hall. Occasionally, she would pause to extend a greeting to one of the village folk, but she kept up her comments to Lothíriel as they walked. "We are a simpler people, closer to the earth. There would be much hardship, but much reward, I think." She glanced over at Lothíriel with an odd, sort of testing expression. "You would have to work very hard," she said.
Lothíriel smiled a little. "I confess," she said guiltily, "I am not so accustomed to labor as perhaps I should be. I would probably be quite terrible at it," she added with a smile, causing Éowyn to chuckle. Then Lothíriel said thoughtfully, "But I am not afraid to learn."
"Then that is all you need."
"There is something I am very curious to know, however."
"Yes?"
"How would the people of Rohan react to a foreign queen?"
Éowyn looked thoughtful for a moment before she replied. "It is nothing new. My grandmother was foreign. I cannot say you would not have the occasional naysayer, but this would be true for any choice of bride Éomer made." She looked sidelong at Lothíriel with small smile. "As a sister, of course, I am very concerned about his particular choice."
"Naturally," Lothíriel replied, smiling. "I felt the same when my brothers were to wed." She paused in her step to look at the other woman closely. "Do you think I should accept?" she asked at last.
"You should make whichever choice you believe will make you happy."
"The happiness I longed for is no longer possible, no matter my choice."
"Then I do not know how to advise you, except to say… I believe sometimes happiness can be learned." Éowyn smiled again, and her eyes became distant, fixed upon something only she could see. "And sometimes it comes from unexpected places," she added softly.
The burial of King Théoden three nights later was somber and moving. Lothíriel stood quietly by her father and the other guests, feeling an outsider, but she was nonetheless deeply affected. The dark, haunting harmonies of the Rohirrim singing washed her body with a chill. Though she could not understand the words, she felt strangely connected to them through the spirit of the song. When it was finished, she was surprised to find silent tears running down her cheeks.
That evening, Éomer drank a cup to his forefathers, and the Rohirrim hailed him as king. Watching him, Lothíriel felt rather small and awed. He stood tall and proud, his eyes alight with fiery determination. She had observed his sorrow during the burial. In fact, she had observed as much of this man as she had been able in the last few days. He seemed strangely old at times. She knew he had seen much, done much, and sacrificed much more than anyone so young should have had to. Had not they all?
Later, after he announced and blessed the trothplighting of Faramir and a radiant Éowyn, the same eyes were a mixture of pride, joy, and a lingering sadness. His gaze was often upon Éowyn during the evening as she moved about, talking and laughing, and Lothíriel realized that when Éowyn departed for Gondor, he would be utterly without kin in his homeland. She felt a strange stirring of pity for him, as she knew he must be harboring pity for her. Would a marriage born of pity be advisable?
It wouldn't be just pity, she realized. She respected and admired this young king of Rohan. She could see, as her father had told her, that he would be in need of someone. A helpmeet. The man had been reared in a time of war. He knew very little about peace, and soon he would lose Éowyn. He had never expected to have to rule a country.
Lothíriel knew she could help him. She could be of use here. It would give her life focus and meaning and challenge. This country, this people, was strong and admirable. She loved Dol Amroth—her father, her family, the waves washing the beach and crashing on the rocks, but in the arms of a prince a small piece of her heart had been somehow tied to Rohan. Now, with a power she couldn't rightly explain, it was pulling at her.
In her heart, Lothíriel's decision was made long before she'd expected it to be, but it was still several days before she advised her father.
Over the next few days, Edoras became significantly less crowded as, one by one, the parties of guests began going their various ways. The elves and the hobbits continued on to the west, and Aragorn traveled with them. Though Éomer was grieved to see his friends depart, a small part of him was relieved that his house would become reasonably manageable once again. He had been honored and heartwarmed by how many had come to pay homage to Théoden King, but from a practical position, Edoras had never been intended to host so many. If it hadn't been for Éowyn, he wasn't sure how he would have managed.
Aragorn, at least, would be returning. Queen Arwen had remained behind to wait for him, as had Prince Imrahil and his daughter. For this, Éomer was pleased, for he had greatly regretted his inability to attend the lady as he ought, and hoped to remedy the situation over the next few days.
Since he had met her, Éomer's thoughts had often dwelt upon Lothíriel of Dol Amroth. She remained to him a mystery, for though they had conversed often on the journey to Rohan, he felt as though he looked upon her in a mirror or through a window—the view was clear, but impeded. She was polite, but distant. Kind, but reserved. She did not shy away from his attentions, but her feelings about them still seemed ambivalent. Still, from what glimpses of her he was able to see amidst her self-drawn shroud he was rapidly coming to esteem.
That she was fair there could be little argument. Her hair was as dark as midnight, her eyes large and grey as a stormy sea. There was a grace to her movements that could not help but captivate. She was soft-spoken and observant, and Éomer quickly perceived why Théodred had named her wise. Yet Théodred had said other things as well. He had spoken of lightheartedness and laughter, and Éomer could not help but sense these things were still within her, buried in a tomb of grief and duty and acquiescence. It was as though she had been locked within a self-imposed cage, and he found himself wishing she could be free again. He found himself wishing he could help her.
These things he might have confided to Éowyn, but was reluctant to intrude upon her time with Lord Faramir, who would not remain in Edoras for much longer, as his own duties in Gondor could not forever be neglected. Faramir would return to Minas Tirith with the king and queen, and he and Éowyn were eager to spend as much time as possible in one another's company, particularly now that their betrothal was no longer a matter of secrecy.
Éowyn's joy brought Éomer much gladness. For so many years she had been flailing—lost and despairing—and though he had done his best, he had not been able to help her. The ease with which Lord Faramir had seemingly done so caused Éomer a small amount of resentment, but his feelings of relief and gratitude were far greater, so this childish notion was easily dismissed. It was this part of him, however, that secretly welcomed Faramir's imminent departure, so that he could have Éowyn to himself for the rest of her time in Rohan. Already plans were in place for a wedding in early spring of the following year. To Éomer, the time seemed too short.
The evening after Aragorn and the others had departed, Éomer found himself strangely sad and pensive. He was mostly quiet at supper. Éowyn and Faramir sat on one side of him, talking earnestly together in quiet, pleased voices. Arwen Evenstar sat on the other, but to Éomer's relief, Imrahil took it upon himself to see that she was attended to. Occasionally, as protocol demanded, Éomer would participate in their discussion, but was mostly content to listen. His thoughts rested upon the bridge between the past and the future, and he was not much inclined to conversation.
At length, his gaze fell upon Lothíriel, sitting serenely on the other side of her father, and a thought struck him. "My Lady Lothíriel," he asked, drawing the surprised gaze of the others at the table, including that of the lady herself, "would you favor us with a song? I was told from the closest of sources that your voice is quite unparalleled in your father's court."
Lothíriel turned to her father with a reproachful expression. "My father is too excessive in his compliments, Lord King," she said, her eyes still on Imrahil.
Éomer chuckled. "Nay, lady. It was not from your father I heard this report." Théodred had many times spoken of his 'songbird' when he'd last returned from Dol Amroth.
Something in Lothíriel's eyes seemed to soften when she realized his meaning, and she nodded. "Yea, my Lord. If that is your wish."
"But she has no harp," Faramir noted. Éomer frowned. This he had not considered. But it was no matter. The minstrels could easily provide accompaniment.
Beside him, Éowyn stood up with a smile. "Nay," she said. "Not of her people, perhaps." To Éomer's astonishment, she stepped down from the dais and went to the minstrels, gesturing knowingly to one of them to relinquish his instrument. He was quick to give her, though he seemed mystified. Éowyn then walked with confidence to Lothíriel's place and handed it to her. "But she may play upon a harp of the Rohirrim, as I believe she knows how," she said with a smile.
Lothíriel's smile was warm and genuine as she accepted. "Thank you, my lady," she said. She looked at the instrument thoughtfully for a moment and gave it a few experimental strums before looking back to Éomer. "What manner of song would it please you to hear, my Lord?" she asked.
"Sing a song of Dol Amroth," Éowyn said brightly as she resumed her place.
"A song of peace," Éomer said at the same moment. He looked over at his sister and they exchanged amused expressions, causing the company to laugh. He opened his mouth, ready to concede to Éowyn's suggestion, but to his surprise, Lothíriel spoke first.
"I believe I have a song which would answer both requests," she said, considering. She looked at her father. "It was a favorite of Idlawen, my lady mother," she added with a soft smile, which Imrahil returned fondly.
The hall quieted, and Lothíriel strummed the instrument in trial for a few moments before her fingers began moving upon the strings with confidence, and her voice rang out clear and strong.
Come by the hills to the land
Where fancy is free.
Stand where the peaks meet the sky
And the rocks reach the sea.
Where the rivers run clear
And the bracken is gold in the sun.
And cares of tomorrow must wait
Till this day is done.
Come by the hills to the land
Where life is a song
And sing while the birds fill the air
With their joy all day long.
Where the trees sway in time,
And even the wind sings in tune.
And cares of tomorrow must wait
Till this day is done.
Come by the hills to the land
Where legend remains
Where stories of old stir the heart
And may yet come again.
Where the past has been lost
And the future is still to be won.
And cares of tomorrow must wait
Till this day is done.
Come by the hills to the land
Were fancy is free.
Stand where the peaks meet the sky
And the rocks reach the sea.
Where the rivers run clear
And the bracken is gold in the sun.
And cares of tomorrow must wait
Till this day is done.
The song was not a long one, but from its first strains, it had instantly filled Éomer's heart with a sense of simple peace and hope, soothing his apprehensions. This was not merely due to the words and the lyrical melody, but the love and sincerity upon the countenance of the singer. She seemed to be far away as she sang, lost in memory and love, but for one small moment her cage was left unguarded, and Éomer felt as though he truly saw her for the first time. In that moment, he began to understand how Théodred had come to love her.
When the song was finished, Lothíriel returned the harp to its master amidst an enthusiastic round of compliments and entreaties to sing again, which she graciously refused. Éomer took the opportunity to lean aside to Éowyn. "How did you know she could play a harp of Rohan?" he asked quietly.
Éowyn gave a satisfied smile. "You are not the only one in whom Théodred confided, brother," she said. "If I am not mistaken, there sits even now in Imrahil's halls a harp that once belonged to Théolas."
"Indeed?" Éomer replied, intrigued. It was not surprising that Théodred would have chosen such a keepsake to bequest upon his beloved. Théolas had been the sister of Théoden and Théodwyn, Éomer's mother, but she had died young from illness and was little spoken of. Éomer knew little of her, for his mother had been only a child when her sister had died. Her harp had no doubt lain idle for many years, unattended and forgotten. No doubt Théodred had decided it would have a better life in the hands of his songbird.
As the evening waned to a close, the company finally began to dissipate. Éomer took the opportunity to approach Lothíriel, who was in a serious conversation with her father. He was reluctant to intrude, but Imrahil noticed his approach and said something privately to Lothíriel, who glanced at Éomer, nodded, and murmured a reply before they both turned to face him.
"My lady," Éomer began, bowing slightly. "I do not believe I had the chance to thank you for your song amidst all the other offerings. It was highly pleasurable. I hope you will favor us with another performance some time again before your departure."
"It was my honor, Lord King."
"And how are you enjoying your stay in Edoras?"
"Very well, my Lord. Your land is beautiful, and your people very worthy of respect."
Éomer could not help but feel frustrated. She was behaving as formally as ever.
"With your permission, Éomer," said Imrahil, glancing between the two of them knowingly, "I have some things I wish to discuss with my nephew." He turned and gave Lothíriel a kiss on her forehead, and a reassuring squeeze on her upper arm. "Goodnight, daughter."
"Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Imrahil," Éomer nodded to him as he departed.
There was a moment's awkward silence, and Éomer struggled for something appropriate to say. The situation between himself and this lady was certainly a peculiar one. "I apologize for my distraction these past few days," he said at last. "I hope Éowyn has made you sufficiently comfortable."
She smiled kindly. "Yes. She has been most accommodating. And you need not feel a burden on my account, my Lord. You have been much occupied with matters of precedent."
"Even so, my invitation to you was of a particular nature. I would not see you neglected or overlooked."
She lowered her eyes, and her expression was difficult to read. "If it please you, my Lord," she said after a moment, lifting her face to look at him again, "I would request a private audience with you tomorrow, at your earliest convenience." She glanced around the room and its occupants, as if stressing the need for privacy.
Something within him jumped a little at these words. She must have made her decision, he realized. What else could it be? He resisted the urge to ask her outright, then and there, though he was intensely curious. More surprising was his strong desire that her answer would be yes. Instead he nodded. "Certainly, lady. Feel free to attend me at any time you wish."
To his relief, the interview was not delayed the following morning. Éomer awoke early, his mind too full to easily sleep, and he'd spent the quiet, early hours attending to a few trivial household matters that had been neglected since his return from Minas Tirith. So it was that Lothíriel and Imrahil awaited upon him, before most of the others were even awake. Éomer dismissed his servants, and they were alone.
Imrahil positioned himself unobtrusively to the side as Lothíriel came to stand before Éomer, curtseying low. He rose from his seat to greet her, returned the bow, and remained standing as she straightened. She took a deep breath and lifted her chin, her eyes seeking his with confidence. "My Lord Éomer," she said, "I have decided to accept your suit of marriage." A strange sort of relief filled him at her declaration. Then she continued, with a slight amount more of hesitation, "I have only one request to ask of you."
"And what might that be?"
"A year's time, my Lord," she said quietly. "To be with my family, and to honor Théodred and my fallen countrymen with a time of mourning."
He nodded appreciatively. "Then you shall have it."
She exhaled, seemingly relieved. "Thank you, my Lord." She turned back to her father.
Imrahil approached with a contended smile, and bowed low before Éomer. "It is my honor, Lord Éomer, to bestow upon you my daughter's hand. I know she will be greatly cared for. This shall be a blessed alliance between our two lands."
Lothíriel now turned back to Éomer, her expression more relaxed. "In what manner are Rohirrim brides wed, my Lord?"
"It is the custom that the bride be trothplighted in her old home and wed in her new," he replied, remembering Éowyn's trothplighting of only two days before.
Lothíriel considered these words. "Then so it shall be for me," she said with confidence. "If it please you to wait upon me in my homeland, of course," she added.
"Of course," Éomer confirmed. "In a year's time."
Replies:
Eokat- The appendices, various passages of RotK, websites that have compiled information from other sources… LOL. If only research for school had been so interesting. You are probably right about Lothíriel.
Angel of the Night Watchers- I'm afraid my desire to research does not extend to learning some Rohirric, but thank you for the suggestion! As for updating regularly, I only hope the momentum continues as it has been.
smor - I think I stole the 'spears to plowshares' bit from the Bible and tweaked it… well, I stole it from somewhere, anyway. It was swords to plowshares. LOL Incidentally, 'Middle Earth Slumber Party' sounds like the title of a humor or parody fic. You should write it. ;-)
lsoa- You didn't forget to respond! I just overlooked you in the replies. So sorry!
Chapter 4: I'd hoped the flashbacks would provide a measure of levity, and I'm glad to see it has succeeded.
Chapter 5: Delighted beyond all measure that you're enjoying my interpretation of Lothíriel. I know she's pretty different from other versions.
kati58 - Thank you!
Tracey- I am most sorry that you couldn't manage to review before. You should congratulate yourself, btw. Thanks to your desire to hear from Éomer again, he became insistent that the acceptance of the proposal be told from his point of view. I hadn't planned it that way ;-) Also, your comments about Éowyn are reassuring. I have been concerned I was writing her too brightly, but then I inevitably remember that at this point she is both healed and in love, so… LOL
Katya - Thanks! Considering who Lothíriel was riding beside, I'm guessing this was very good for you, hmmn? ;-)
Spacepirate - As always, an intensely gratifying (and fun) review! I'm particularly glad you enjoyed the 'trek,' as you say. I was pretty satisfied with those passages. And who doesn't enjoy É/F 'schmoopiness'? Hehe
Shallindra - Yes… handsome… (glances askance at Éomer poster on closet door) Hehehehe.
Rachel A. Prongs - Hmmn. Well, I highly doubt Gimli found Éomer very sweet and loveable upon their first meeting, but I think I catch your drift. LOL I suppose Rohan wasn't directly caught between Isenguard and Mordor, as there was still Gondor in the middle, too, but Rohan certainly felt the effects of both. I think this is something the TTT movie did a good job of bringing out. Alas, there was not really an appropriate place to include Lothíriel's interrogation of Faramir. I hope her query to Éowyn was enough to satisfy you.
Terreis - (big grin) Welcome! As you say, when someone reviews every chapter, they deserve due response. I always loved the book, too, and actually just picked up a copy at the library yesterday. Since I've been thinking about it so much, I decided to reread. LOL Yes, the A-A age gap has been most reassuring since it occurred to me. Éomer is rather wonderful, isn't he? We all know it's only a matter of time for Lothíriel. She cannot possibly be stoic against that forever. Mwuahaha. As for Lothíriel's lack of devotion to É/F… I hope I did not disappoint too many. She's very happy for them… just a bit preoccupied. ;-)
A/N: There are several this time.
As a musician, LotR just isn't LotR to me without intermittent songs, so here I found a place to insert one for my story. However, I am neither songwriter nor lyricist, so… I borrowed one. (adjusts halo) Come by the Hills is a traditional folksong as featured on Loreena McKennit's very first album, Elemental. If you're ever interested in some good, LotR-type folk music, I highly recommend… well, just about her entire body of work, actually. Ms. McKennit is quite a talented harpist, herself, and that particular album has a very maritime feel. I have drawn much of my inspiration for Lothíriel from it.
For my own purposes, I've kind of imagined the culture of Dol Amroth as having loosely Irish influences, so I always pictured their famous harpers as playing something the size of an Irish harp. The harp Lothíriel played in this chapter, however, is much more like a lyre. Please, nobody go on an in-depth search for where I gleaned these distinctions, because I totally invented them.
Lastly, it says… somewhere (can't remember where offhand) that Théoden had other sisters besides Théodwyn, but nothing is divulged about their names or fates. So I made one up
This chapter was unbelievably difficult to write. You may all simultaneously blame and thank Melyanna who refused to humor me into thinking my first attempts were okay, and thereby forced me (as a matter of pride) to do several rewrites until I finally came up with something (I hope) worthwhile. I actually trashed an entire scene which proved to be both extraneous and tedious. Can you believe that?
Your exhausted author,
Saché