Dear Amrothos,
I have nothing much of interest to say but neither do I have anything interesting to do. So I write. My days here are hugely void of activity. There are no scandals or any interesting goings on in the court, as far as I know. Perhaps if I spoke the language better I would have something more to tell you. But do barbarians even have intrigues? A question I haven't the inclination to answer.
A few nights ago King Éomer threw something of a gathering for his nobles. It could not in any way be compared to the balls of Minas Tirith and I am hesitant as to what I could really call it. You would have laughed at how rustic it was. Shall I describe the menu for you? It was meat and meat, with some sweet buns afterward. And as for what the nobles were wearing – almost uniformly home-spun cotton dresses died blue or green for women, and simple leggings and tunics for the men with their house emblems embroidered on them. I felt quite the outsider in my own dress (that emerald gown I wore for the Yule feast last year) I must describe the sparkling conversation? It was almost exclusively about the distribution of grain and whether the coming winter would be harsh or not. It was even more boring than the usual platitudes exchanged about the harvest and the weather. Why – because these people actually seem to care.
As for King Éomer himself, well let us just say that in his native lands the man seems somehow explained. We live near to the Great Hall and I see him often. Never once have I seen him wear anything more elaborate than a tunic with some gold embroidery and he seems to think that a crown would ruin his rugged countenance. And he often walks about the city as if he were nothing more than a simple rider in one of his éoreds. It is no wonder he and King Elessar get along.
As for his habits, they do not improve with time. He has an absolutely infuriating disregard for propriety and he seems to think that after knowing you for a few months he has some right to your thoughts. Can you even imagine it? I find it even more irksome because he obviously expects that after sharing a few meals with someone they owe him some sort of honesty and trust but all the while he just becomes less and less formal! So the normal trick of keeping morons like this at bay with curt formality is almost useless against him!
And there is no subtlety to him. I find he is rather lucky to have made it out of Minas Tirith and back to this barbaric place where everyone is just as candid and idiotic as he is. What he thinks, he cannot help himself from saying and worse still, he expects you to do the same. As if everyone was just as unashamed and dimwitted as him!
But enough about my life here. You must, simply must, write to me about what is happening in Gondor or I will go out of my mind with boredom. Is Winweld still hoping Our Lord Barbarian will return and marry her? Has Lady Harra been making trouble for you?
Lothi
I lay on my bed and read over my letter with satisfaction, scratching out barbaric in the second last paragraph and writing savage over it small script. I hesitated for a second longer. Amrothos hadn't written a single word about Lady Harra (though he was a good correspondent and wrote to me almost weekly). My main purpose in writing the letter had been to inquire about her but I found I lacked the courage. I wanted to remind him to be particularly careful with her. But anything I wrote to that effect would only infuriate him and make him reckless.
Contrary to what I had written, I had come back from my first ranging with Erchirion a few days before and I was looking forward to almost a week back in Edoras. It was strange how the comforts of the city, which had seemed inadequate when I'd first arrived, felt positively luxurious after a ranging. Being woken at dawn was nothing if all I was expected to do was wash my face and put on a clean dress and not swing up into the saddle for a full day's ride. And the food, which had seemed simple, now seemed rich and incredibly varied. I had gone back to compliment the cook on the evening meal twice the night before, and it had only been a simple venison stew.
I found it strange as well how much I missed Gænwyn. I had grown used to her constant companionship on the ranging but on our return she had gone back to her homestead for a few days, to prepare for the winter and I felt the loss more sharply than I would have easily believed, or ever admitted. I had never expected her to accompany me but when she had heard that I was looking for a female companion for the rangeing she had been angry with me for not coming to her first. When I had tried to explain that I had felt, as the Lady of a large area of land, the job was slightly beneath her, she had scolded me. "We are together, Lothíriel. And you know how much I like riding. You should have come to me first!"
I hadn't known what to say. I knew it wasn't true that Gænwyn wanted to go riding off into the wilderness for a few weeks with nothing but a bunch of riders and me for company. It was a favor so big and so generously given that it made me feel dizzy.
Of course she had laughed at my riding skirts, the small bottle of perfume I'd brought with me and the hair ribbons. But she'd also seen the way I could barely walk at night, so stiff from riding for the first week, and taught me how to stretch out the knots in my muscles. She'd lent me a set of riding britches when I finally relented and accepted that my Gondorian skirts weren't practical and she'd teased my out of my various foul moods.
But even with all Gænwyn's help, the ranging had been hard and I was glad to be home. When had I started to think of Edoras as home, I wondered as I stretched and wandered over to wash my face in the basin. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse the emerald gown that I had written to Amrothos about and I thought back to the night of the feast...
The great hall of Meduseld looked like an enormous tavern once the casks of mead had been rolled into place. The tall wooden ceilings weren't visible even though the hall was a riot of warm orange light from the many braziers, torches and candles scattered everywhere. At the high table Éomer sat, wearing no crown, but looking every inch the king. The back of his high chair was carved to mimic two rearing horses with their hooves meeting just behind his head.
Erchirion and I arrived late because I had spent half an hour trying to explain a quite complex hair style to Eadgyth only to give up and settle for a simple braid. Normally it would have made me furious to have to adopt a hairstyle that I felt didn't entirely suit my dress but I was in a good mood as we walked through the chilly night air towards Meduseld.
Though the air outside held a taste of the coming winter the hall was warm from the many fires and bodies. I took off my light silver cloak and handed it to Erchirion and we walked up the center isle to the high table where we had two seats of honor just to the left of the King. As we walked I thought that it was just as well that I hadn't bothered with my hair. I was attracting quite a few stares based on my dress alone, which was easily the finest in the hall. Unexpectedly, I felt slightly ashamed of myself.
Images of the devastation I had seen on the ranging had been popping into my head at odd moments. I had seen old women hand tilling their fields because there were simply no men or horses to be had to do the work. Children, who to my eyes looked barely old enough to be away from their mothers, gathered firewood or fetched water and men old enough to be grandfathers, carried swords and patrolled the villages. The scant men of fighting age who were left had all looked twisted somehow by a fear and frustration. I'd seen that same fury in Éomer's face from time to time when he spoke of the effects of the war. For a man who is accustomed to being capable of anything, helplessness is a black rage of confusion.
"My sister and I apologize for our tardiness, Éomer King," Erchirion said when we reached the table and Éomer honored us by standing to greet us.
I did not apologize but swept my most elegant curtsey, aware that many eyes were still on me, and Erchirion bowed. Éomer nodded. "Lord Erchirion and Lady Lothíriel, you are both most welcome in my hall."
We took our seats, Erchirion sitting on Éomer's left and me sitting to his left. Éomer gestured for us to be served and servants brought us two steaming bowls of almost exactly the same venison stew we had been eating for days now along with the brown bread. Somehow I had expected the dinner to be traditional Gondorian fare—gelled eels, roasted chickens with a cherry and walnut glaze, steamed new potatoes braised in beef broth, asparagus in a cream sauce or a thousand other things that a Gondorian Lord might have found fit for his table—though I knew as well as anyone that we had been eating the venison stew for days because there was simply nothing else to be had in Edoras.
For a moment I experienced a strange anxiety as the stew was placed in front of us. I was bracing for Amrothos to make a backhanded comment to the King about the fineness of his table and how delicious the stew was. But Amrothos was back in Minas Tirith and I was looking forward to the music and dancing too much to care about a little thing like the meal.
Erchirion and Éomer made conversation through dinner about the usual thing: grain. But I had thought enough about that in the last few days and I let my eyes wander over the hall and the men and women seated at the long benches. The Rohirrim were a very handsome people, I found myself thinking. The blond-haired and broad men somehow seemed more pleasing to me than the dark, small, fashionable Gondorian lords. And the women – strong, proud and tall – more admirable to me than the demure, elegant ladies of Minas Tirith.
It occurred to me that if I were a man, I shouldn't really want a wife with an elegant smile on her lips but poison on her tongue. I would rather have a woman who might shout at me in public but would never whisper behind my back. The thought came in a flash and I found it strangely unsettling.
Deep in my thoughts, I suddenly realized that both Éomer and Erchirion were looking at me expectantly. "Hmmm?" I said, jerking my attention back to them. "I apologize...I'm afraid I was taking in the sights."
Éomer smiled. "Your brother was just telling me how well you did on your first ranging, Princess. He says you bore up remarkably well under the conditions."
"Your men made it easy. They are very generous."
It was true as well. I had been inevitably given the softest patch of grass for my bedroll, the best cut of meat, and the best room in the inn (on the rare occasion when there was an inn to be had). When we'd found a beehive I had been given so much more than my fair share with my bread that night that it had been almost chokingly sweet, though I had thanked them for it at the time and pretended to enjoy the offering.
"Oh, I am sure they were quite generous with you, Princess," he said with a barely stiffed laugh.
Confused for a moment, I hesitated. "Well, they were at least not rude enough to make private jokes at the dinner table," I said finally when he didn't explain himself. I had never liked being made fun of, as is true of most bullies.
He just laughed harder at that. "Excuse my manners," he said when he recovered. "It's just I can't help but imagine that they quite fell all over each other to do anything they could to help a woman as beautiful as you."
My back stiffened. I had never liked it when men said things like that to me. It made me feel uncomfortable because I never knew what to say, and I wasn't used to that. So why then did I feel sudden warmth in my stomach and a blush that wasn't entirely unpleasant spreading to the roots of my hair? "I would quite say that," I said carefully. "They were courteous but that's certainly..."
Erchirion laughed almost louder than Éomer had at that. "You should have seen the looks of disappointment when she finally learned to get onto and un-tack her horse without assistance!" Irritatingly he couldn't stop chortling. "And I've never seen such a clean rider! They carried enough water for her to have a full bath and wash her hair every single day of the ranging." I hoped he wouldn't mention that they also heated it for me – but of course he just had to. "And not cold water either! Nothing but piping hot for our little princess..."
My blush deepened to what I'm sure must be a perfect crimson. "They brought it for Gænwyn as well. And it seemed rude to refuse..." I said with all the haughtiness I could manage with both of them positively roaring with laughter.
I took another sip of wine and decided not to mention that at the time it hadn't occurred to me that they were really even doing me a favor. After the water had appeared the first afternoon I had simply accepted it as a normal part of the ranging experience and come to expect it. I supposed I would have to be more grateful in the future but if the two of them thought I was going to turn the water down from now one, they had another thing coming.
When the two of them had settled down, Éomer, seeing my look of indignation, said, "No offense meant of course, Princess. I am simply glad to hear that my men were so... gallant... to... you... on... your... ranging." At gallant he broke into peals of laughter again and had to struggle to get his words out.
"Yes, quite gallant," I agreed acidly. "I wonder wherever they learn it."
But my rebuke only made them laugh harder.
"And handsome." The jibe had been aimed at Erchirion but to my surprise it was Éomer who was brought up by it, while Erchirion just kept laughing. Well, six of one or a half dozen of the other didn't matter to me. "Yes, quite handsome. A lady could get used to having a whole posse of men to tote her water and help her horse over obstacles and not laughing at her..."
"Oh? Is that what pleases a Gondorian Lady?" Éomer asked. "A half dozen men doing her bidding?" He had meant his tone to seem light, jesting, but he wasn't practiced at deception and I knew what steel in a voice sounded like, particularly when it was concealed.
I smiled. "Of course. I should imagine that is what pleases all women, my lord."
"Not a caring and faithful husband?" he prompted. This time his voice was a fake jest but it covered something that wasn't sharp at all but rather soft and warm and that made me infinitely more uncomfortable than the steel had.
"Perhaps if no posse can be found," I said finally.
We talked of other things after that, for which I was immensely grateful. I told Éomer about the measurements I had been making as we rode, and the system of notes that I had set up to allow us to standardize our impressions of each village. I explained that it took too long to make the map whilst we travelled so I had simply taken measurements and written them down. I would remain in Edoras for the next ranging to make the beginning of my map and to copy down all the notes that had been made. I said that it was my plan to go on every other ranging if I could manage it and spend the rest of my time in Edoras drawing and figuring out some system to represent the needs of each group of villages.
"You think that you can really do this?" Éomer asked when I finished explaining.
I shrugged. "It isn't so difficult once you know how."
Erchirion grinned. "My sister is being modest. She was always the most scholarly of our family by far. Why when she was a kid in Dol Amroth she used to bring books to the dinner table until our father forbade her and her nursemaid finally had to take all the candles with her when she put Lothi to bed or she would just read late into the night. Even in Minas Tirith the best place to find her was always the library."
I blushed. That wasn't exactly a point of pride. Amrothos and the rest of the ladies of the court had always laughed at me about that. They had called me Lothíriel of the Library for a few years in Minas Tirith until Amrothos and I had been taught to play the games of the court and knew how to make them stop.
I tried to signal Erchirion to shut up but he didn't seem to notice. "She speaks Westron, two forms of Elvish and even a little Haradrim and she..."
"I can read Haradrim," I broke in. "I wouldn't say I speak it. And, as I have already explained, the library happens to be one of the only places in Minas Tirith where hardly any people ever go. As a misanthrope I am naturally attracted to it. As for the mapping it's nothing more than a little trick of..."
To my surprise Éomer cut me off. "You shouldn't downplay your intelligence," he said sharply, sounding suddenly (and I felt somewhat inappropriately) stern. He too seemed to realize how he had spoken. His face softened a little bit and he added, "It's one of the reasons my riders are so eager to fetch you water. Men here want beautiful wives but even more than that they want intelligent wives."
I felt that that was patently a lie. All the men I knew, except perhaps Faramir and my brothers, wanted wives who were well-bred, beautiful, quiet and had good birthing hips. There were of course forms of intelligence that were desirable: being good at a musical instrument or being able to run a good household, which they might look for. But map drawing and the ability to translate Haradrim poetry (which was often as not absolutely unsuitable for polite company) were practically useless talents for a wife.
"Of course... if a half dozen maidens to carry them water can't be found."
His brows drew together and he opened his mouth. But whatever he had to say was cut off by a sudden fanfare of trumpets that announced that the musicians were ready to play. He tore his attention from me and stood. "Eorlingas," he announced in a proud and clear voice. "Thank you for coming to share this meal with me. Winter is coming. The cold is coming, but my hearth will always be warm and you will always be welcome here. We survived the Ring War. We will survive this." He raised his glass and said something that I didn't understand but that the crowd repeated and drank to. Erchirion and I scrambled for our own glasses and repeated it clumsily. Éomer drank deeply and then slammed his cup down. "Now let us find a little more warmth in the arms of these lovely maidens!"
That was met with a roar of such approval I had to grin despite myself.
The benches and tables were quickly cleared and the musicians struck up a lively tune that was wholly unfamiliar to me. But it was met with a roar of approval and a flurry of movement. The Rohirric dances were almost nothing like the Gondorian dances I noted with surprise. I had expected that they would be similar, with different steps perhaps but generally similar. But Gondorian dances were subdued, elegant affairs where often no more than the tips of partner's fingers touched. In this dance the ladies of Rohan were being swung by their waists and whirled around, then let down to clasp hands and be passed lord to lord in a riotous skipping motion.
"Quite different from Minas Tirith, isn't it?" Éomer said with a grin when he noticed how I was staring at the dancing.
"Quite," I agreed.
"It's easy enough to learn."
"Is that an offer?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow.
He held out a hand.
"Well I can hardly refuse dancing lessons from the King of Rohan." He laughed at that as he took my hand and began to lead me out onto the floor. "Wait..don't I get my lesson first?" I asked.
But he clasped my hand tighter and pulled me forward. "Here's your lesson: hold onto me and do what the other maidens do when I let you go," he said with that broad, mischievous grin I had seen once before in Minas Tirith.
"Thanks," I said dryly as we lined up with the other couples.
But it turned out that I hadn't even needed half of that lesson: when Éomer took me by the waist I needn't have bothered holding on. By the second pass, when Éomer again seized me by the waist and lifted me almost terrifyingly high, I had burst out laughing at the sheer joy of it.
When the dance drew to a close he didn't loosen his grip on my waist right away and I found I couldn't pull away. His hand easily spanned more than half my waist and I could feel the heat radiating from it through the thin, fine material of my dress. And the way that he was looking at me... with eyes that were suddenly a lot bluer than I remembered and an expression that was intense and hungry and not gentle in the least. For an insane moment I imagined that those strong fingers on my back were about to contract and pull me against him. I imagined his lips on mine and found that the thought froze me with a shiver like ice coursing in my veins and melting into a warm pool. I stared at him, unable to look away for what felt like an eternity.
But finally he released my waist and stepped away. "I am pleased you like our dances." His tone was almost casual but there was a roughness and a lowness in his voice that hadn't been there before.
"They're lovely, my lord." I said, surprising myself with how meek my voice sounded.
"I wanted..." he began to say but was interrupted by the music starting up again. One of the riders that had gone on the ranging with me, appeared from the throng and held out a hand.
I glanced at Éomer and for the first time I'd ever seen, I thought that perhaps he wanted to remind someone that he was the King of Rohan and not simply just another rider anymore. But he said nothing. "I would love to!" I exclaimed, moving away form him.
I danced with several of the riders after that but I turned the fifth down, pleading fatigue. I had been lucky that Eadgyth hadn't been able to fix a more elaborate hairstyle. My simple braid was a mess from all the movement and my dress was slightly damp with sweat and rumpled in what I was sure was an unseemly way from being picked up by the waist so much. I would have liked some mead or water but that was being served on the other side of the hall and it would take me minutes to cross through the crush of people. Another kind of relief was much closer.
I pushed open the great doors and slipped out into the chilly evening. I stood on the steps, smoothing my skirts and enjoying the cool air washing over my skin immensely. Fingering my braid, I wished there were somewhere private that I could let it down and then braid it back again. A few strands were loose around my face. I looked around for one and instead began to notice how stunningly beautiful the view was from the steps.
The moon was full and the sea of grass was clearly visible in the silvery light, stretching out and out to the mountains far off. There was a high wind whipping across the crags of Edoras and stirring the sea but there wasn't a single cloud in the sky. The stars were unbelievably bright and for a second my breath caught in my throat and I felt my heart beating. I had a real urge to take down my hair and not braid it back up. I wanted to know what the wind felt like whipping through it. My fingers went to the band in my hair and hesitated.
But suddenly there was a flash of warm light and the doors of the hall slid open again and someone else stepped out onto the high, flat stones. My fingers fell from my hair. Éomer came to stand next to me but he didn't say anything right away. It was so like that night after the ball in Minas Tirith: the two of us standing slightly apart from a party. But I was a different person now, I realized with a start. Just slightly, not in any large way, but in a significant way. We both stood looking out over the sea of grass and his lands, saying nothing.
But after a long, quiet moment I turned to him. "I suppose I won't have to find myself a faithful husband after all. Your men still seem obliging enough."
"You know just how to ruin any moment don't you?" he said, but he was grinning affectionately down at me.
I shrugged. "I'd say it was a talent but I had to practice for years."
"I know." Without asking me for permission he reached over and tucked one of my free strands of hair, which the wind had been playing with, behind my ear. He did it so quickly that afterward I wouldn't have been sure it had happened at all except for the proof behind my ear and the tingling sensation where his fingers had brushed my cheek. I was offended by the impertinence but I was also confused by the acute tremor of awareness that had shot down and out through the soles of my feet. Tingle
Feeling that I was grasping somewhat at formality I began, "Éomer King could you tell me where in the sky to look for the constellation of Eorl? I am afraid I am not sure where it is," I babbled.
"I think I should like to be able to call you Lothíriel," he said instead of answering. "But you need to first call me Éomer."
I swallowed. My brother called him Éomer, as did my father and cousin. It was a great honor for me to be asked to call the King by his first name. There was no reason I should refuse. There was no reason that my palms should begin to sweat and tremble. "All right," I said so softly that it almost didn't come out at all. "Éomer could you please point out the constellation of Eorl to me please?"
"With pleasure, Lothíriel."
Éomer took one of my gloved hands in his and formed it into a fist, with just my index finger pointing out. I mutely let him mold my fingers and then point them up at a cluster of stars. Later when I looked at the constellation of Eorl again I wouldn't be able to see a rider on a horse so much as just a big blur of dots, but when Éomer traced the shape for me with my finger, his body so warm and alive and close to me, I wondered why I hadn't seen it before it was so clear.
When he finished he let my hand drop but he didn't let it go.
Suddenly the door behind us opened again letting a sliver of warm orange light and the sounds of the party within, sounding somewhat more raucous than it had when we'd left (how long had that been? I wondered dimly. A lifetime surely.) Two people tumbled out, holding hands and laughing between rather intimate kisses. Éomer let my hand drop as if it had been a hot coal.
"Oh!" The man almost shouted when he noticed us. When his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light and he recognized his King his eyes went even wider. "My lord, I apologize."
"No need," Éomer said with a slightly knowing smile at the young couple. "It's a lovely night. Why don't you take your lady for a walk in the gardens."
"Yes," the man agreed. The two of them disappeared quickly down the stone steps at almost a run, the lady gathering up her skirts and whooping slightly as they took the last three in a single jump.
"A lovely night," I repeated, turning back towards the hall. "But rather cold."
"As you say," he agreed, pulling open the door to let us back in.
Inside the dancing had changed slightly. No longer were couples dancing together but instead there was a group of women and a group of men dancing separately but then occasionally, at a cue from the music, coming together for a moment to pass through each other, clasping hands and spinning around each other and switching sides of the hall. I spotted Erchirion at the edge of the crowd of observers and, as if reading my thoughts, Éomer pointed him out. "I should return you to your brother."
"All right."
We wove through the party and I found that it was much easier when Éomer was with me. The Rohirrim parted for their King almost instinctively and we soon reached the island of black hair in the sea of blond that was my brother.
"What is happening?" I asked Erchirion when we arrived, skipping the pleasantries completely.
Back in the overwhelming noise, warmth and light of the hall what had happened outside seemed like a dream. Had I simply imagined it? I wondered. Had I imagined the strange, lupine hunger in Éomer's eyes? You didn't imagine your own shivering, stupid desire to be devoured though, I answered myself sharply, and that's what's going to really cause you trouble anyway.
"I don't know." My brother looked at Éomer for an explanation.
"Flower catching." But when he saw no dawning comprehension in our faces he explained. "Watch the flowers in the girls' hair." He pointed to one who was whirling by with a single blue flower, crafted from a scrap of colored material, tied up in her blond hair.
As we watched the music changed and the two groups passed through each other. As they did I noticed something I hadn't before: when the men passed by the girls their hands darted out quick as could be and pulled the flowers from their hair. It must have been harder than it looked as I saw several missed attempts.
"What do you get for a flower?" Erchirion asked.
Éomer looked at me and coloured slightly. "Luck. It's a token of luck." I was sure he was lying and I suddenly remembered that the man who had come out onto the dais had been holding something in his hand.
Erchirion too seemed to know Éomer was lying. "Well, I'm going to dance the next dance then. I could use some...luck," he said with a knowing little smirk meant to go right over my head.
Men, I thought sourly, why do they think I am such an idiot?
The lady who was on Erchirion's arm, one of the ladies who had sat with us at the high table but to whom I hadn't spoken, seemed as unimpressed with their deception as I was. She turned to me. "And what about you, Lady Lothíriel?" she asked in accented but perfectly comprehensible Westron. "I have an extra flower if you would like to dance."
"No!" Éomer said quickly. "Thank you for your generosity, Lady Lithoer but Lothíriel doesn't know the dance steps."
I had been intending to say no as well but then I thought about his silly lie and him refusing to tell me what it meant to be born with many teeth. If he was going to treat me like I was a blushing imbecile in the vein of Lady Winweld, perhaps I should obligingly pretend to be one. "Oh they don't seem too hard. I'm sure I'll manage somehow," I said, keeping my expression completely innocent. "Besides, you seemed confident enough that I could learn the other dance without too much instruction."
"Don't worry," Lithoer said in a voice so low that neither of them could hear as she fastened the flower to my hair. "Down at the bottom of your braid it will be difficult to reach. And I've tied it quite tightly."
"Thank you," I said. "What is the traditional forfeit anyway?"
I had read enough scandalous poetry to know what a woman's flower represented but surely it couldn't be that. "A kiss," she said. "Or a little more perhaps. If you like the man who snatches it." When I flushed, she laughed. "I think it hardly likely anyone will try to claim it anyway. Not with your brother standing right there."
I started to ask what it meant to be born with many teeth but the dance ended and the dancers cleared off the floor, the women laughing and the men either congratulating or consoling each other. Lady Lithoer and I moved out onto one end of the floor and Erchirion and, to my surprise, Éomer moved to the other. The music struck up and we began to dance. I twined arms with Lady Lithoer and some of the other ladies, whirling around and through the mass of dancers. The ladies seemed very excited that I had joined them and I was enjoying myself so much that I was almost surprised when the music changed.
Though it was supposed to be luck that determined who you passed by I was somehow not surprised that one of the men I would pass was Éomer. As we skipped towards each other I met Éomer's eyes and my heart started to beat high in my chest. As we passed I saw him make a grab for my flower but I was through and out to the other side with no tug on my braid. He had missed! I whipped around and met his eyes. I grinned my most taunting grin, elated by my victory, and shook my hair at him so he could see the flower flash behind my back.
To my surprise he smiled back at me with a sort of bemused but indulgent smile.
I didn't worry for the rest of the dance. If the King of Rohan couldn't catch it I doubted anyone else could. I simply gave myself over to the joy of dancing with the other women. I noticed that Lady Lithoer had a way of flicking her head when she passed the men that made it almost impossible to get the prize. She didn't do this when she passed Erchirion. Unfortunately, quick as he was my brother wasn't practiced at this game. He managed to undo the bow but he didn't manage to get it all the way off. Still she seemed pleased that he had tried and I thought perhaps she might give him half a kiss later for the effort.
When the dance ended the four of us regrouped by the high table and both Éomer and Erchirion got new cups of mead though Lady Lithoer and I claimed that we didn't dare. "Bad luck, Erchirion," Éomer said, clapping my brother on the back. "Flower catching requires practice. It's not all in the reflexes."
"And sometimes not even after practice." I said, glancing tauntingly at Éomer but he just smiled that same bemused, indulgent smile.
"Yes, sometimes."
I didn't dance again. I knew better than to get cocky after a lucky victory and there had been something not entirely indulgent in Éomer's smile. If I gave him another chance I was pretty sure that he wasn't going to let me win.
Erchirion and I left soon after that, walking back to our house arm in arm.
Back in my room Eadgyth helped me get out of my clothes. "Sorry they're so dirty. I was dancing," I told her.
"Did you enjoy yourself, my lady?"
I paused for a moment. I had almost forgotten about that confusing moment on the terrace in the joy of the dancing and conversation. What did it mean anyway? Nothing I can't worry about tomorrow, I thought. "Yes, very much," I admitted. As she moved to undo my braid I added, "You can just put the flower with my other jewelry." I thought perhaps that I would wear it the next day if I went up to the hall to return some of my maps to Éomer.
"What flower, lady?" Eadgyth asked.
"The flower in my hair."
"You wore no flower tonight, lady."
Sudden understanding lurched through me. The look Éomer had given me hadn't been quite what I would have expected from him if he had really lost. I snatched at my braid, pulling it over my shoulder so I could inspect its tail. There was nothing but the simple band of leather I had used to keep it in place. The green flower was gone. It could have perhaps fallen off later... or another man could have... I thought desperately. But I knew exactly where my flower was.
I groaned aloud. Practiced indeed! I hadn't even felt him slip it off!
Suddenly his bemused smile seemed to take on a whole new light and I wanted to kick him as hard as I could on the shins. He had known that I still thought it was in my hair and he had let me taunt him about it! That smug... that arrogant... that loathsome...
I bit back a scream of frustration. "Right...I must have forgotten."
My thoughts came back to the present and I folded the letter carefully up and put it into an envelope, sealing it with some wax and pressing my personal seal, a cresting wave, into it. It hadn't exactly been the letter I had intended to write. But I had to write something to Amrothos and I had found this one easy to write. It was what he expected me to say anyway and none of it was technically a lie. We had talked of grain and eaten venison stew. As for my feelings about Éomer, well I wasn't sure what they were myself. What harm could it do to parrot Amrothos feelings back to him?
TBC
As usual a huge thanks to my amazing beta reader LBJ and to everyone who reviewed. Please let me know what you thought of this chapter!