Chapter 3
Éomer was awake early on the morning of his departure. He had not slept very much, as the urge for road burned in his veins and filled his mind. A full week had passed since he had talked with Éothain, and each day had felt long as a lifetime as he thought of long days in saddle and nights under the stars. While the situation was stable enough in the kingdom and his Marshals would remain vigilant in his absence, he still wanted to make sure there wouldn't be too many fires for him to put down when he got back.
But after a restless night, he felt quite famished. It would be at least another hour before the kitchen servants began preparing breakfast, and so he decided to go and find some food to soothe the worst pangs in his stomach. To his surprise, kitchen wasn't completely empty.
Leofrun had served as the King's housekeeper for some fifteen years now. She had come to Meduseld around the same time as Éomer and Éowyn, then newly orphaned and taken in by their uncle. Leofrun had been one of the few adults Éomer had trusted at the time, though he couldn't say why it was so; perhaps it was because she had been new to the court, too. And she had always treated him gently, even when he acted like a wild, untameable colt. Nearly everybody else had told him things that turned out to be untruths – that his father would return soon, that Mother would recover and be herself again, and that things would be all right – but Leofrun had not tried to ease his grief and anger by telling him what he wanted to hear, only what was possible and true.
Leofrun was dressed as always in well-made gown of russet wool, with a white apron wrapped over it, and many little objects hanging from her belt. Her long, greying hair was in one thick braid that almost reached the small of her back. Though she was fond of complaining about how old she was getting, she still moved quickly and gracefully, and her weathered hands were both skilful and gentle. At the moment she looked to be trying to find something. She had already lit the great oven, which glowed warmly at the background.
"Good morning. What are you doing awake so early?" Éomer asked as he approached the woman.
She cast him a smile over her shoulder.
"Morning, laddie. Don't you know? I always get up early when you are riding out", she replied nonchalantly. He had hardly had time to digest this information when she was already gesturing at him impatiently. "Come and give a hand to an old woman, won't you? I need to reach that high shelf."
Éomer scoffed softly under his breath.
"You're not that old", he pointed out as he stepped closer and reached for a green earthenware pot she was pointing at, sitting on the top shelf of a cupboard.
"My dear lad, I look it and I feel it", Leofrun replied as she received the pot. With a smile, she asked, "Care to take tea with me?"
"With pleasure. Do you happen to have any food at hand? I'm starving", he said, casting a look around himself but knowing better than to go searching for something to eat while Leofrun was watching. She would trash him if he upset the order in her tidy, well-managed domain.
"Of course I do. Hold on a moment", she told him, gestured at a pair of low stools near the oven, and began to move around as energetically as ever. Éomer knew better than to offer his aid, and so he took seat by the oven.
Quickly she toasted some of yesterday's bread for them and found a bit of cheese as well. She gave a good helping of fresh butter and ham on his slice, but kept her own portion rather small. Leofrun noticed the look he gave her.
"You'll be in a saddle for many long hours, lad", she commented emphatically. Then she smiled, "I remember the appetite you had while growing up. I used to joke to Théoden that you would eat him out of house and stables too. But I suppose you put it to good use, seeing what formidable man you became. Just like your father."
There were few people who could speak to him in this warm, intimate manner with his approval. Leofrun was the chief of them, excluding Éowyn. Sometimes he wondered if this was how it would feel like to talk to his mother, if she lived. The thought was sad, and yet at the same time it ignited something fond in his chest.
"I suppose I was not an easy child to raise", he said thoughtfully as he accepted a mug of tea and the green clay plate. His stomach growled loudly at the smell of toasted bread.
"Certainly not. I think Théoden got a fair share of white hairs thanks to you! But the best, fiercest warhorses are not easily bred. Your uncle knew that and he loved you well enough to give it his best shot. I think he saw the makings of a great man in you from the start, if he could just tame that wildness of Éomund's line. And looking at you now, I think he did just that", Leofrun replied as she sat down opposite him.
Éomer let out a sigh.
"Sometimes I'm not so sure. I wish he was here. I wish I knew if I was doing the right thing. Making the right choices", he admitted. It was something he had said to very few people until now.
"Dear lad, do you think he knew any better? Ruling a kingdom is never easy, not even for the best of men. Your uncle was a wise man, but he too had his troubles. We both know it all too well", she told him and sipped her tea.
"Then what would you have me do?" he asked her, frowning as he spoke. Leofrun gave him a crooked smile.
"You would ask me for advice? I am just an old housekeeper, lad. All I can do for you is make sure your hearth is warm and welcoming", she told him gently and reached to squeeze his forearm.
He looked down at his toast, hunger all but forgotten.
"It's lonely work, Leofrun. Lonelier even than I expected", he said quietly.
"I know. It weighed heavily on Théoden, too. Sometimes I wondered whether his later years would have been easier, if he had somebody by his side", Leofrun said. Her tone was not allusive as one might have expected, but Éomer still looked up sharply.
"Not you, too", he said sharply and took a big bite of his toast, which he then chewed almost angrily.
"I'm sorry. I know you don't like the subject, and I understand why that is. You never liked to be told what to do. Forgive this old woman for her impudence. I would so dearly love to see some happiness in your life", she told him, and her voice was so warm and sincere that he couldn't be angry with her.
"Don't worry about it. I know you mean well", he relented and gave her a small smile.
She returned it, but then her expression became serious once more.
"Enjoy your trip to the Stoninglad, Sire. Forget about your troubles for a while and laugh with your friends. But please, give a thought or two to your homeland every once in a while, and remember that no matter how fierce and brave you are, there's only one of you in the world. I know life has not always treated you fairly, but the Mark has nobody but you", she said and her voice, usually so calm and collected, held something almost desperate in it.
And how could he blame her for it?
Fair weathers greeted the King and his Company as they rode south. The road was light and easy as they made their way on the Great West Road towards the City of Kings, and Riders were in a good mood at the prospect of a holiday. They sang, joked and laughed, and more often than not Éomer participated in these endeavours, feeling already unburdened and glad. No disturbances were met on the way, not even a single orc's footprint. In the villages they passed by things were quiet and peaceful. This strengthened his conviction it was indeed a good time for this journey.
In Mundburg Aragorn and Arwen hosted him and his Riders for a few days. Full of enthusiasm, the King of Gondor and Arnor took Éomer around the city, showing him all the many projects he and his council had started. As usual, Rohan's young kiong watched the faces of city's inhabitants, searching for a very particular pair of sea-grey eyes. A couple of times he even startled when he thought he had seen her, but then he would realise he was mistaken. He felt more than a little pathetic when he realised what he was doing, yet he could not help this stubborn habit. If Aragorn noticed anything odd about him, his friend didn't show it.
All the same, the atmosphere was different in the city and it no longer felt like some ancient ruin, more tomb than a dwelling of living people. They didn't talk politics, though. Either Aragorn had judged so by Éomer's letters, or Éothain had somehow warned the man, but it appeared he wasn't going to disrupt this so called holiday with matters of state. But those could not be neglected indefinitely, and Éomer decided they would get to business once he returned from Dol Amroth. He would have to stop in Mundburg anyway before the journey home.
As Emyn Arnen was not quite fit for entertaining guests, it was in Mundburg that he also met Éowyn and Faramir again, still in the bliss of their newly-wed state. He was rather surprised the pair could be bothered to leave their nest so soon, in progress though it was. Éowyn did occasionally notice her brother, though, and filled his ears with a multitude of stories about her new home. He promised to come see it soon.
Over the years, Éomer had participated a few campaigns in Gondor, but never very far south – and certainly not in the lands of Belfalas by the sea. So, as his company started for that southern road, he was curious as to what he would see. And what he came to witness were lush, green lands, rich with fields and orchards and woods. The climate grew milder than in his homeland, fit for growing goods that would never thrive in the biting winds of the Mark. Altogether the land of Gondor was good and fair and it was easy to see why it had once been a great kingdom. But like Mundburg, many of the towns his company passed by had fallen into disrepair and there were fewer people than the land could nurture. The long war with the Enemy had sapped the lifeblood of Gondor for many a year.
The roots were strong, though, and it was only a matter of time before the blessings and fruits of peace were collected.
As they approached the Bay of Belfalas, Éomer began to see more and denser settlements. It was a wealthy part of the kingdom, further away from the east than Mundburg and Lossarnarch and Lebennin, and vigilantly guarded by Imrahil's fleet of warships. Still, there were a few burned towns along the way, crumbled houses of blackened stone, but also a keen purpose of rebuilding them. Stories of pirates sailing from the city of Umbar beyond the sea came to his mind. Something quite unpleasant slithered down his spine when he thought of how severely all the lands of Middle-earth had been pressed on by enemies.
Then at last he and his Riders caught their first glimpse of the city of Dol Amroth. Proud it stood, facing the sea, and Imrahil's blue and silver banners flew high in the wind. Éomer had heard people calling this city the Jewel of Belfalas, and truly, it was just that. There it stood in the lap of glittering sea, fairer even than Mundburg the City of Kings, with slender towers, sweet gardens at every corner, and mighty walls that guarded both the city and the lands about it. In the harbour, he could see tall and proud ships, some meant for warfare and others for trading and transport. Elphir had told him that Dol Amroth had been built before Westernesse fell. Was this ancient city a glimpse of that fabled, long lost realm of Men?
Whether it was so or not, he was received there as a much expected friend. Guards of the city had spotted his company from afar and the gates were wide open for him. At the sides of the streets, people halted to watch the King and his Riders as they passed, shouting greetings of welcome.
Upon riding to the great courtyard of Imrahil's palace and seat of power, he saw he was being welcomed by the Prince himself and his three sons. Amrothos waved at him in excitement and all four men were smiling brightly. Éomer could only imagine how he and his company, his blond Riders on the top of great Northern warhorses, looked like against the white stone that had been carved and fashioned like it was alive. Still, stranger friends had been made during the War of the Ring than himself and the House of Dol Amroth.
"Welcome, Éomer King of Rohan! Walk freely into our home, and may your stay with us be as merry and memorable as ours was in Edoras!" Imrahil greeted him, arms spread in a cordial gesture and smiling as though nothing could please him better than this meeting.
"Thank you, Imrahil. It is good to be here", replied Éomer as he dismounted. He surveyed his surroundings, half in instinct as a seasoned warrior would: while horseback fighting was his strongest suit, he could tell this was not a stronghold you took easily, whether you came by land or by sea. The Amrothians had given much thought as to how make their city fair, but at the same time, they had taken care to protect that beauty. Riding in through the gates, he had noticed the strength of the walls, and now that he was inside, he saw the Swan Knights patrolling the broad walks above them. He imagined the great towers and warehouses held many cunning weapons and defences for siege warfare, and plenty of foodstuff to sustain those who defended this fortress.
Imrahil's sons came to greet him as well. Around him, his Riders were dismounting and giving up their horses to a legion of ready stable-hands. Guthlaf, his squire, had already taken Firefoot by reins and was explaining to a stable-hand that the King's stallion did not welcome the touch of a stranger. Éomer suppressed a smile. Most people would not describe Firefoot's temper so nicely.
"I trust the journey went well? No bumps on the road?" Imrahil asked and looked a bit like he might just dispatch a troop of Swan Knights in case his guest had in any way been bothered during his journey.
Éomer smiled and shook his head.
"It was long, hot and dusty. Otherwise, I have no complaints to report", he stated.
"You might have taken a ship from Harlond. It's much more pleasant to travel by the river", Erchirion pointed out, as might well be expected from a sea-mad mariner such as himself.
"Perhaps it is so, but neither I or my Riders were in the mood of training a bunch of spirited warhorses to endure ships. If you think Rohirrim are wary of boats, our mounts are doubly so", Éomer said. As if to emphasise his words, Firefoot was snorting loudly nearby.
"You and your beasts are truly a menace", Erchirion said, feigning indignation, though amusement glittered in his eyes. No doubt he was busy imagining a scene of utter mayhem – a lot of injured sailors and Riders, excess of damaged goods, and at least one ship sunk to the bottom of Anduin.
"Indeed, and may the armies of Southrons and Easterlings long remember it", Éothain put in from nearby, a bit too grim to be making such remarks in good humour. As far as Éomer could tell, his captain and Imrahil's second-oldest had some kind of a rivalry going on, but he had decided to stay out of it.
Imrahil decided to intervene then, perhaps deciding the conversation had taken a turn for the worse.
"Please, let us go inside. You must be weary after the journey. Dinner will be served in a couple of hours, but perhaps you'd like to bathe and rest a little bit before it?" he was fussing, and so started to herd his sons and their royal guest towards the palace as though a brood of unruly children. Éomer allowed himself to be lead into the great halls of stone that both reminded of Mundburg and yet were different from it. Éothain remained close by, seemingly trying to look like he was not overly impressed by his surroundings. There was a great hall, its high ceiling supported by pillars like mighty trees, and double staircase lead to the upper levels. Light streamed inside through tall windows and bathed the hall in golden daylight. All was bright and polished and here and there, the device of silver Swan-ship could be seen in hangings and tapestries. This was truly a different world.
He was taken straight to the guest rooms. There was a bedchamber, a private sitting room, and a bathing chamber. He quickly noticed there was also a balcony with a view to the sea. The rooms were furnished with pieces made of the same light, polished wood he had seen elsewhere in the palace. Curiously he examined some of the furniture; while the Amrothian tradition did not seem to be so passionately concerned with wood-carving as Rohirrim were, he saw that swans and ships were a common theme even in one's bedroom. The carpenter who had built these things had clearly been quite fascinated with the curve of a swan's neck and the idea of a ships riding the waves. Rich tapestries covered stone walls, showing scenes from the history of Dol Amroth and Gondor, and the same shades of blue and white were a recurring theme in all the fabrics he saw around himself, though they were often supported with greens, greys and silver. The air of the room was a strange but pleasant mixture of sea wind, beeswax, and some citrusy scent he couldn't place. It was all quite different to his home back in Rohan.
As soon as Éothain had his orders and his squire had helped Éomer to get out of his armour, he headed straight to the bathing chamber. He had taken a wash here and there on the way whenever it was possible, but a proper bath was still very much appreciated after the final long hours in the saddle.
The bathing chamber was small and warm and the tub massive enough for two people. Next to it on a delicate stand were a multitude of small vials and bottles, which he saw were oils and bathing salts upon closer inspection. There was a bar of soap that smelled like juniper. It was mild and inoffensive enough for his tastes. Still, he allowed himself a private grin as he thought what his Riders would say if he appeared before them smelling like some exotic southern perfume.
Guthlaf brought in more water and poured it slowly over his head to rinse off the lather. Éomer pressed the water off of his hair and got up on his feet again. He received a light, embroidered robe and a towel of fine, soft linen. Feeling refreshed, he made his way towards the bedchamber to look for a change of clothes.
He also dismissed Guthlaf once he had given orders to clean his armour and check on Firefoot. While he didn't doubt the skill of Imrahil's stable-hands, he knew well Firefoot could be troublesome, especially in an unfamiliar environment. When he promised his squire a night off, Guthlaf beamed. Most like, he and his friends already had plans for exploring the city and its entertainments. Éomer tried to warn the lad from squandering all his coin on the first night, but he wasn't sure the young man even heard his last bit of advice.
Somebody had provided him with a light repast while he had been bathing: light cakes, choice bits of delicate meats, fine cheese and some chilled white wine. He almost shook his head at the levels Imrahil was going in pampering the royal guest. Still, he did eat a little bit – it was hours since he had eaten anything and it was still some time before the supper.
He dressed in a green tunic and buck-skin breeches, dusted his boots, and tied back his still damp hair. Carrying a sword in this place would be making an unfortunate statement on how much he mistrusted his friends, but he still slipped his usual two daggers inside the hidden pockets in his boots. He would say it was because a warrior was always prepared even among allies. Éowyn would say he was paranoid.
Be that as it may, he had lived this long only because of said precautions, and while he didn't expect to be ambushed in Imrahil's dining hall, it was better to be safe than sorry.
When he was ready, some kind of a butler lead him to what looked to be a private drawing room. It was rather similar to his own chambers as far as themes and colours went. He felt a little bit like at some point in history, one of Imrahil's ancestors had decided how their home should look like, and not a thing had been changed since. Certainly it lent the place an air of agelessness. As a young Marshal, he doubted he would have known how to conduct himself, or whether he was supposed to touch anything or not. Thankfully he now had some experience in that regard. Not to mention, the way Amrothos was slumped in a chair encouraged a perfectly informal attitude.
Imrahil himself poured them drinks, and for a while the company was engaged in light conversation about Éomer's journey from Mundburg. Then a servant came to announce that the dinner was served, and the Prince of Dol Amroth lead the way to a long dining hall. A great table was there in the middle, with room enough a dozen people, but only one end of it had been set.
Food was rich and delicious. There was creamy soup, fish prepared in several different ways, vegetables cooked in butter and fresh herbs, three kinds of pies, and finally an assortment of sweetmeats and honeyed almonds. All this was served with white wine that came from Imrahil's own vineyards. After tightening his belt all winter, this was a proper feast in Éomer's eyes.
As they ate, they spoke of the events of past spring and winter. The Amrothians had much to tell. Imrahil often travelled to Mundburg to participate in Aragorn's council, for he remained the new king's trusted advisor. Elphir helped him where he could, shouldering the duties of the Prince of Dol Amroth when Imrahil himself was away.
"Suits him well, at any rate; he will inherit this carnival one day", Amrothos put in, gestured around himself, and grinned at his eldest brother. Elphir met the glance with infinite patience.
Meanwhile, Erchirion was training the new Swan Knights and commanding a warship of his own. Amrothos sometimes took part in the former task, but he was also often running errands for Aragorn, who was eager to get to know even the furthest corners of his new kingdom.
"Sounds like he keeps you all busy", Éomer commented, halfway through his salmon fillet.
"Indeed he does. Sometimes I wonder where that man gets his vigour", Imrahil said with a slight shake of his head. "Lothíriel complains at times how rarely we get together these days."
At this point, Éomer had heard his friends mention her so many times, it felt like she already was a whole person inside his head, even though he had not met her. He would have expected her to join the party tonight, but she remained absent. Mostly out of politeness but also of curiosity, he noted, "Is she at home? I wondered if I was going to meet her while I'm your guest."
"She and my sister the Lady Ivriniel have been staying at our family's villa inland. She should return any day now, though, so I'm sure we'll have a chance to introduce her to you", Imrahil answered, pouring some more wine to his own glass and those near to his hand. He had dismissed the table servants to allow them some peace and privacy.
"Lothíriel should have been here for your arrival, but I'm afraid she follows nobody's schedule but her own", Elphir noted and lifted his glass. Erchirion snorted out loud.
"Much like Amrothos", he commented and shot a jovial smile at the youngest of three brothers.
"Is she like him, then?" Éomer inquired. What a fearsome thought. A woman with Amrothos' temper and manners would surely be a menace.
"Not really. My daughter is only like herself. But you will see for yourself once she joins us", Imrahil replied. For a moment, there was a faraway look in his eyes, and then he ventured to ask whether Éomer had visited Emyn Arnen on his way.
The name of Lady Lothíriel was not mentioned again during the dinner, and soon enough Éomer forgot about the elusive woman once more. Wine and easy talk with friends put his mind to a light, relaxed mood. The everyday troubles of Rohan truly felt faraway; it would not be difficult to follow Leofrun's advice if every night was going to be like this.
And if he went home from his holiday with new vigour and perspective, then he could truly call this trip a success.
Next morning Éomer slept late. It was a rare enough occasion to be noted; of his adult life, he could name only a few times he had stayed abed after sunrise. Even if there was nothing urgent for him to attend to, some deep-seated instinct would stir him awake early – thanks to the many morning drills he had hated as a young Rider in training.
Still, it was a holiday, so he couldn't feel too guilty about allowing himself some leisure. Guthlaf seemingly appreciated it as well, puffy-eyed and pale as he was from a night of merrymaking. But as ever, the lad attended his lord without a complaint, and Éomer could hardly blame his squire for being a young man in a beautiful southern city.
Imrahil and Elphir were busy with some affairs of the fiefdom, but Erchirion and Amrothos shared breakfast with him. They also agreed to accompany him to the city and give him a tour, like any proper foreigner. It was entertaining, he had to admit it. He had never had a chance to travel outside the Mark, not beyond a few trips to Mundburg to lend Rohan's aid to Gondor. However, those journeys had not been made for the sake of amusement. His éored had always stayed close together, focused on doing their duty and then going home as soon as possible.
So it was true that he was curious about seeing Dol Amroth just for the pleasure of it. As soon as they had finished their breakfast, they headed out. Éothain and a few Riders came along, but their presence was mostly for formality's sake. Arrayed in their strange, foreign gear, they were as much a curiosity for the locals as the city was for the Rohirrim. A few, wide-eyed children even followed after them for some time.
Erchirion and Amrothos took their task very seriously. They showed him around near the palace, introducing sites of famous events in the city's history, and shared an endless number of anecdotes from their own adventures in the city. They took him to the docks to get a closer look on the famed ships of Dol Amroth. One or two taverns were visited to sample the local beverages, which inspired a heated conservation and comparison on both countries' skill in the arts of brewing and distillery.
They visited the markets as well, a great square that seemed to hold every sort of goods that a person could dream of purchasing. All sorts of fabrics from Rohirric wool to exotic silks, Northern pelts and furs, spices from Southron lands, tools of every kind made by various blacksmiths, small knick-knacks from buttons to toys and small pretty objects that seemed to serve no other purpose than pleasing the eye, perfumes and soaps, jewellery that varied from a few coloured glass beads to shining precious stones and pearls, and foods of so many different kinds that the very air was a cacophony of smells. Baked goods, vegetables of early spring, delicacies of rustic sort but also others meant for an acquired taste, and sea creatures of too many kinds to keep track off filled the stalls. Éomer saw fruits he had not never even heard of and he forgot what they were called almost as soon as Amrothos had pointed them out. Most had no name in the tongue of Eorlingas.
He had no particular need of anything for himself, though he did buy a few bits of local foods sold by street vendors. For Leofrun he bought a small assortment of spices, a silver necklace in the form of two swans taking flight, and a bar of soap that smelt like lavender. It was not much, but the housekeeper would probably refuse his gifts if she thought they were too ostentatious or expensive.
It was all a bit overwhelming, this onslaught of new things and sights. So they decided to get back to the castle and continue the tour some other day.
After they had returned to the palace and had late lunch, Amrothos invited him to a sparring session at the training grounds. Éomer readily agreed.
While these occupations were pleasant and relaxed, there remained certain duties that could not be avoided. The same evening, Imrahil was hosting a banquet in his honour and all the smaller nobles of the Prince's court would be attending. Éomer did not particularly enjoy such formalities, but he knew it couldn't be avoided, and who knew? He might even enjoy himself, as Éothain insisted. The young king could easily imagine the secret hopes his captain had for occasions of this kind: maybe he would finally meet a lady that made him forget about the nameless young woman in the Houses of Healing.
Whether he would enjoy the banquet, or meet such a woman, Éomer kept his comments to himself and prepared for the event. He bathed again, trimmed his beard a little bit, and picked a soft green tunic which was, with its intricate golden embroideries and the beautiful border at the hem, one of his better ones. He didn't recall packing it but he suspected Leofrun had something to do with the matter. He did not have his crown, but appearing in that kind of gear would be pretentious. He would not have difficulty standing out in the crowd anyway.
He was surprised at the amount of people that showed up in the end. It looked like the Hall of Feasts was full of guests when he arrived with his own party; only the seats reserved for him and his Riders were still free. Yet perhaps the news of his trip had travelled further than he had thought, and in any case a visit by a foreign king was no common occurrence in these parts. Éomer knew Théoden had once visited Dol Amroth, but it was over twenty years ago. It was practically ancient history.
At the centre of it all Imrahil beamed like a man whose all personal wishes have come true. He was as gracious a host in public as he was in private, offering the seat of honour to Éomer, and speaking many fair words in his praise. His court spared no cheers or applauds. A certain degree of curiosity was to be felt in the air, but it had a good-natured quality to it. Only a handful of these people had been to Rohan; the wide free lands and the tall horselords were but a far-off tale for the most of them.
Then the banquet started proper, and the great hall was filled with the sounds of soft music, many voices speaking, and dishes being handled. Food was as excellent as last night, but Éomer was more interested studying the faces of guests, or talking with his immediate neighbours. Imrahil was to his left but on the right side sat a silver-haired man named Lord Acharion, who was one of the Prince's chief lords and the Admiral of the Fleet.
He had served on Amrothian warships his whole life and taken part in some of the most famous sea battles of his time – practical legends in this part of the world, though only a few rumours had reached Rohan. But Éomer was glad to listen to the old mariner's tales, who shared them generously with him. While one of them had spent his life at sea and the other on vast grasslands, there was the unspoken understanding of professional warriors between him and the old admiral.
Halfway through the banquet a servant appeared to Imrahil's side. He whispered in the Prince's ear for a moment before bowing and retreating again. Éomer expected it was some minor news on this or that running matter, but as soon as the servant had left, he turned towards his Rohirric guest with a faint smile.
"I just got word my daughter has returned. She won't be joining us tonight, though – she says she's tired from the journey. I suspect it's more a case of not caring for this gathering too much", he explained to his friend.
"She does seem to avoid the social events", Éomer commented. One would expect that a lady of her standing, with connections even to the King of Gondor himself, would not be so elusive.
"You think her some kind of a recluse? That is not really the case", Imrahil said and let out a small laugh. "But I do admit my daughter is not what you might expect. It is said that a strange strain runs in our line, thanks to our legendary foremother, Mithrellas. If anybody in our family has it, Lothíriel surely does."
Éomer was familiar with the tale of the Elven ancestress of the House of Dol Amroth, but he did not understand what Imrahil meant. The Prince and his sons did not seem particularly strange to him. Still, he decided not to ask for a clarification. It wouldn't be tactful, and anyway he would meet the lady soon enough. Yet privately he had to admit his curiosity was growing.
All in all, it was not the worst banquet he had participated. He had pleasant conversations both with Imrahil and Lord Acharon, he wasn't asked about his marriage plans more than twice, and his Riders were all on their best behaviour. Himself, he drank more wine than he had intended, but still managed to keep a grip and not act like a fool.
After the banquet he made his way towards his chambers. Éothain was with him, because they were both in a merry mood and had quietly agreed to get one more drink before bed.
However, both had some trouble telling which way they should go. Even if they had been perfectly sober, they would have found the palace a challenge for their sense of direction. There were so many stairs going up and down, countless long hallways that sometimes looked so similar that one had hard time telling them apart, and smaller corridors that served less as a short cut to a confused Rohir and more of a way to get utterly lost. Still, they tried to appear as they knew where they were going – and probably failed spectacularly.
At last after they had wandered a while in what they believed was the south wing, Éomer thought he had found the way to his rooms, and was leading the way, while Éothain followed suit and was amusing mostly himself by doing a poor impersonation of his liege-lord.
"... trust me, Éothain, I know the way, how hard can it be to find your own room..." he was ranting and occasionally guffawing in laughter. Éomer paid him no heed. Maybe he should have invited Amrothos to join them – he would know the way in his own home. On the other hand, in that case they might stay up drinking until dawn.
It was then he saw movement at the far end of the long hallway they had just entered. It was a woman, walking quietly away. He could only see her back, raven hair spilling in waves down her silver-grey robe, but the way she moved... there was something that made his brain itch. He felt like he knew her.
Instinct told him to call after her, even if he didn't know who she was. But he did not – he merely stood there staring after her while Éothain was still going through his nonsense. The moment passed. The unknown woman opened a door and disappeared.
At last Éomer got himself moving again.
"Wait!" he exclaimed, although he knew it was too late. She couldn't have heard him. All the same, he was now hurrying the same way he had seen her go.
"Éomer! Where are you going?" Éothain hollered after him, but the young king paid no heed to his captain. Éomer could hear the man cursing and then hastily following.
He got to the door quickly with his long, swift stride. Even if it was somebody's private chamber behind that door, he wouldn't have cared. However, he discovered a round staircase, spiralling up and down. Which way had she gone? It was now his turn to curse. He could not hear any sounds in either directions – the woman was going on her way like a ghost. Would she hear him if he yelled after her now? Would she even respond?
"Éomer, what's going on?" Éothain asked, having caught up at this point. But the younger of the two Rohirrim only grunted in response and on an impulse, chose to go down the stairs in search of her. Éothain groaned, but followed suit nonetheless.
They more or less burst into the corridor one level down. Nobody was there, except a pair of surprised guards, who startled and grabbed their weapons before realising who had caused the disturbance.
"Your Grace?" asked one of them warily as Éomer wildly searched the space with his eyes, as though she might be hiding behind a tapestry and would leap forward any moment now.
At the same time, Éothain was growing more impatient.
"What are you looking for?" he wanted to know insistently.
The sudden wave of energy that had sent Éomer looking for the mysterious woman now fell flat. She was long gone and it was useless to try and find her in this confusing maze of stairs and corridors.
"I thought I saw…" he muttered, but his voice trailed off when he realised he didn't know what he had thought. He shook his head, "Never mind. It was a false alarm."
Éothain did not look happy, but perhaps he decided his king was more drunk than he had thought. He grunted and cast a look at the bewildered guard.
"All is quite well, soldier. Can you point us to the direction of guest rooms?" he inquired pleasantly.
"Very well, my lord", answered the guard, though he and his companion shared a suspicious glance.
Five minutes later, the two Rohirrim were again on their way to Éomer's rooms, and this time with a better idea of where to find them. But while Éothain asked no questions about his sudden outburst, the mystery of the woman and why she had seemed so familiar would not leave Éomer alone even as he finally laid himself to rest that night.
To be continued.
A/N: Hope you liked this new chapter!
Originally I meant to write more plot in this chapter, but then it turned out more of a matter of setting the scene, and I got a bit too excited about thinking about Dol Amroth. Still, I think the asked-for reunion should not be far off now!
As ever, it's very entertaining to be inside Éomer's head. I do hope it was enjoyable for you as well.
Here's again some background info:
Dol Amroth was indeed founded before the fall of Númenor. The area was settled during the Second Age, but the line of Prince Imrahil was established in the Third Age by Imrazôr and Mithrellas, who was said to be an Elven maid of Lórien.
Númenor in Common Speech (or Westron) is called Westernesse.
Harlond is the port near Minas Tirith. It was the centre of traffic by ships from further down Anduin and I imagine ships from Dol Amroth and other coastal settlements would dock there.
Thanks for reading and reviewing!
Jo - Thanks! Yes, a lot of people are very much up in his business, so this holiday does come to a need!
Serni - Thank you!
Susnsmsh - Glad to hear it! :)
xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - Thanks! I do love the man, so it's good to hear I am doing him justice.
Catspector - Indeed, the poor man has so much on his plate! But I imagine it would be so for him at this time, when so many things are changing both in his own life and in Rohan. But the woman he met in the Houses of Healing remains a bright point for him.
EStrunk - I've got to admit, it's also fun to write him being in that kind of mood. But indeed, she's never far from his thoughts even now!
JennyVDM - Hold on a little while longer! ;)
PilotDante - Hope you liked this chapter, even without the reunion!
Guest - Well, we're in Dol Amroth now, so maybe they'll meet again soon!
April2016 - Thank you! I hope you continue to enjoy it!
sai19 - Oh, I just hate it when that happens! But I'm glad you have found this story now. :)
