1 March 3018 T.A., Minas Tirith
BOOM!
The palace walls seemed to be shaking, and Lothíriel was jerked from her slumber, sitting upright in bed as she stared wildly around, her heart pounding.
BOOM!
There were the sounds of running footsteps and shouts in the corridors. Swinging her legs over the side of her bed, Lothíriel felt around for her dressing gown and wrenched it on clumsily as she stumbled to the door.
Bright torches bobbed light around, and as she glanced around the corridor in panic she saw Erchirion, clad in his nightclothes as well, running full tilt towards their father's chamber. Imrahil exited a moment later, tugging on vambraces—already he was fully dressed. The prince was less panicked than his son but wearing a grim expression that caused cold tendrils to clench Lothíriel's heart.
"Corsairs," he announced loudly. "They are battering the harbor defense towers." There were more footsteps, and Lothíriel saw Amrothos appear, panting.
BOOM!
Lothíriel nearly lost her balance, placing her hands on the suddenly-tenuous walls of the palace. But her brothers and father were unaffected, and Imrahil did not waste a moment more.
"Erchirion, assemble the Knights along the west city wall. I can barely see the ships from my terrace; the attack comes from the south. Amrothos, set sail at once to meet them in the Bay. The first four captains you find receive the same orders. Go!"
Her brothers were off. Her throat dry, Lothíriel met her father's gaze at that moment, and his expression softened. "I am sorry, my daughter," he said. "I did not mean for this—"
"Father! I have just heard—" Elphir appeared suddenly out of the darkness, Nessiel trailing behind in her nightshift, little Alphros balanced on her hip and looking around with wide eyes.
"Good, you are here." Imrahil straightened his shoulders, his jaw working as if about to say something difficult—and indeed, it must have been, for his voice shook as he said, "Elphir, you are to take your wife, your son, and your sister to Minas Tirith at once. Do you understand?"
BOOM!
Her eldest brother's face was pale in the flickering light. "But Father—" he tried. Lothíriel saw Nessiel clamp a hand over her mouth, a sob shaking her body.
"Those are my orders," the prince snapped. "Once they are safe in the city, you may return."
"I will be more use here—"
"Go at once, boy! If you will not listen to your father, listen to your prince! Those are my orders and you will follow them or face a tribunal!"
BOOM!
Lothíriel had never seen her father in such a state of emotion; Imrahil's color was high and his grey eyes glittered with frightening fire. Elphir turned away without another word, taking his wife's arm and steering her back towards their chambers, though there was an angry, baleful look thrown over his shoulder. Imrahil loosed a long breath as they disappeared behind a corner, then turned on his own heel and returned to his chamber, shouting for his manservant to ready the rest of his armor.
Her saddlebags were packed haphazardly, her riding clothes donned with trembling fingers (her maid was nowhere in sight—likely she had gone from her bed into hiding), and Lothíriel plaited her hair, albeit messily. But it was enough, and less than a half-hour later she was in the stables, saddling Wilwarin in the eerily empty building. Her companions came not long after—Elphir sullen, Nessiel's face stained with dried tears, Alphros whimpering, and a handful of tense Knights to be their guard on the road. Less than ten minutes later they were fleeing along the city streets, away from the shouting and fighting and towards the dark wilderness beyond the gates.
This was not how Lothíriel wanted her winter to end.
While Dol Amroth was suffering attacks from Corsairs that night, Éomer was searching every nook of his chamber in Meduseld with a dim candle, certain that somehow, he was being spied upon even when he slept. It was an unsettling, disturbing feeling, and one that his cousin and sister shared.
At last he gave it up, deciding to wait until morning. Midnight was hardly the opportune time to look for something hidden anyway, but the issue of untrustworthy servants entering his chamber during the day was greater than he liked. Éomer sat upon the still-made bed, wondering why he did not feel more tired.
The chance to return to Meduseld to see his sister and uncle had come to pass because the usual raids of Dunlendings and orcs had yet to begin again for the spring. Snow remained in the mountains, and would for many days yet, but the plains were brown, the snow melted and causing deep puddles and dangerous streams of mud. Not ideal for travel, but Éomer was willing to sacrifice to see Éowyn.
She had changed, this winter, and it worried him greatly. They had not yet been able to speak privately, but that would have to wait for the morrow as well. And so he was left with restless thoughts and fingers, and little comfort.
Well—there was something that would ease his mind—
Fortunate had crossed his éored with the messenger from Gondor on the Great West Road, and Lothíriel's latest letter was tucked in a hidden pocket of his saddlebags. He retrieved it at once; angling his body around to where he suspected a spy would most likely be watching from so as not to reveal what he was doing.
Éomer stretched out upon the bed, the hearth fire and single candle casting just enough light for him to see the words. Though he had already read this letter, it brought just as much joy to him upon a second reading.
Éomer,
I could almost be offended, really! Your dismissal of winters in Dol Amroth cuts me to the heart. However difficult winters in your land are, our sufferings here must be equal, I am sure. We cannot swim in the sea or the lagoons for the chill, and the constant rain keeps us indoors. The damp creeps inside, and the palace walls bead with moisture for weeks. Many people become ill from this—hearth fires can only drive away so much.
I thank you for your imagery of your duties as lord. However unfairly you think of me dispelling judgements (I have never!), I am sure that you are an admirable lord. But I must ask, based on my knowledge of you stealing into stables as a child and trying to ride wild horses: are you more sympathetic towards such youthful escapades which require your judgement, or are you harsher? I cannot decide which you would be.
You already know much of my family, but I shall answer your questions. I have been told since I was a child that I look remarkably like Elphir, which is odd—for his hair curls naturally and mine does not. Some say I have the bearing of my mother, but since I have so few memories of her I cannot say whether is true or not. Regarding temperament, I think I am most like Amrothos—as the two youngest, we have shared in many adventures together (and mischief), and we both have a propensity of laughing aloud at inappropriate moments. I shan't say more on that topic.
To ask me which member of my family is my favorite is terribly unfair! Any one of them would be monstrously offended to learn of whatever answer I choose, except perhaps Elphir's wife Nessiel. Which is why I would say that she is my favorite—I always yearned to have a sister, and Nessiel has many qualities of a good one. She is patient with our wild family and mothers her son with great love. Alphros must be my other favorite, then, for he is the most darling child I have ever known, I am sure. He is nearly a year of age, and smiles nearly all-day long. I like to think that I am his especial favorite.
Oh, dear—you asked which of my brothers was my favorite. Oh! How bad of me. I might say Elphir, for he is an excellent listener, or Erchirion, for he teases me the least, or Amrothos, with whom I may laugh all day long. In short, I have no real answer.
My mother died when I was only four years of age. When I try to recall her, I see only long, dark hair and a warm smile. Father speaks of her but rarely. A few years ago I was browsing perfumes at the market and one instantly brought her to remembrance with a terrible ache in my heart—jasmine. It is odd how our senses can remember things that we think we have forgotten. I did buy the jasmine perfume, and though I keep it wherever I go, I do not wear it. (I have dampened part of this letter with the perfume. I do not know if it will remain fresh, but I thought you might be interested—as far as I know, jasmine does not grow north of Pelargir).
May I ask, in return, to know of your mother?
Before I end, I wish to thank you most sincerely for your kind willingness to suffer delays in our correspondence for my being home, as well as your well wishes for my happiness. My brothers would have said no such thing, and so I must think you their superior. Of course, that is no difficult feat, for they write to me perhaps once or twice a year. It is your care and concern that sustain me during the darkest days.
All my (and here Éomer squinted at an ink blot, wondering what she might have misspelled, for she was not usually a messy writer), regards,
Lothíriel, again of Dol Amroth
He held the parchment to his nose, wondering indeed if the perfume held—it did, but only faintly. Jasmine was a new scent to him, but he rather liked it; flowery and bold, reminiscent of the hot sun. Though Lothíriel said she did not wear it, Éomer decided that it suited her, all the same. Smiling to himself, he read the letter again, and then a third time. He wondered if he would ever tire of this princess—and guess that it was unlikely. Her charm in her honesty and humor were unmatched.
His lurking danger mostly forgotten, Éomer again hid the letter in his saddlebags, yawning as at last exhaustion at the late hour caught up to him. When he slipped into sleep, his dreams were filled with a dark-haired girl and the echoes of her laugher.
If anything, the sight of Minas Tirith was more repulsive than before.
The brief reprieve of her beautiful sea home and her family pierced Lothíriel's heart keenly. When she trod into her chamber at long last, despite the exhaustion of the grueling journey, she sat upon the freshly-made bed and stared miserably at the stone walls.
The journey had been long; requiring an extra eight days of travels for the mud and floods that invariably came with the onset of spring. Tempers had been short; Elphir still resented their father's sending him away, and his wife had suffered from both fear and offense that her husband wished to be elsewhere. Their son had cried most nights, fussy from both boredom and cold, and Lothíriel had taken him as often as she could to be of assistance. But she was unhappy, too, and Alphros knew it.
A knock sounded on her door, and upon her bidding entrance Elphir's tired head poked into her chamber. "I have been to see Father's steward," he said. "There is a letter for you, and just in time, too. Had we not arrived today, it would have been sent on to Dol Amroth in the morning."
A letter? Lothíriel blinked, and her brother smiled, wafting a thick folded parchment into the chamber, tantalizing her. She recognized the seal at once. Éomer! She leapt up, her heart beating fast—she had not expected a message from him for—well, she supposed she was due to receive one. Gratitude for his constancy swelled in her breast, and she smiled broadly to flick the letter from Elphir's fingers.
"I thank you," she said loftily. "You may go, sir."
He laughed, which surprised her, and left, the door closing behind him. Lothíriel barely noticed this; she was already taking a place on the window seat, breaking the seal clumsily in her haste and eager casting her eyes upon Éomer's words—
To Lothíriel, Princess of Dol Amroth and Gondor, with whom I once discussed the presence of other princesses of Gondor, to which I have now decided that one be enough, if that one be my Lothíriel—
(Now I confess I am belatedly remembering your brother's wife—is she a princess, too? I must assume so. Still, I must sympathize for Gondor if there are two princess such as you. But by your description, Nessiel appears far less mischievous. A dangerously close call for your nation).
In the vein I have already started, I will begin by thanking for the detail you have given regarding your family. It seems a wonderful family, and from my perspective—orphaned at a young age with few extended relations (though quite good ones)—I should think myself quite jealous. I would have liked a larger family. Perhaps fate will favor me someday.
You will be pleased to know that the perfume you included in your last letter did, in fact, reach me. It was very faint, but I quite liked it. Your mother sounds a truly lovely person. I should have liked to know her.
I do not mind at all your asking about my own mother. She died when I was nine years of age, and I have many memories, though all are tinged with sadness. Her name was Théodwyn; she was tall and strong, fair of hair and face and often smiling. She taught me many things in our short time together, sowing the beginnings of patience (which I conveniently forgot for many years until I was full-grown), how to darn my own stockings (I have always been notoriously hard on stockings), and to show Éowyn my fierce love without leaving any bruises (a difficult lesson for any young boy to learn, I am sure). I was very grieved when each of my parents died, but it was after my mother's death that I cried for many days. I knew and loved and respected my father, but it was Mother who had a true hold on my heart. Since my youth, I have always strived to be a good soldier to do my father proud, but a good man for my mother.
The snow here is still thick; we do not expect further raids for a few weeks yet. I did manage to travel to Meduseld to visit my sister and my uncle. In the light of recent years, it could be a more pleasant sojourn, but I try to be grateful for the time we do have. Truthfully the walls of my home in Aldburg and even Meduseld itself seem all the closer during the long winter months, and despite the tentative peace and duties of lordship I grate at the inactivity. I gain far more solace than you realize through your letters—I am glad to know of the world beyond these walls, and the people in it.
Will you return to Minas Tirith, come spring? Should the Dunlendings prove less bloodthirsty this year, I would travel south again, if I could. I would know how Gondor fares, and of you.
Wishing you well as always, with my utmost care and concern,
Éomer of Rohan
Lothíriel's smile did not fade during the entire reading, and when she was finished she clutched the letter to her breast, sighing happily as her eyes fluttered shut. Perhaps living in Minas Tirith would not be so terrible. She would have more letters from Éomer now, without delay as spring warmed the world, and perhaps he could come to Gondor again!
She could bear it, then. With these hopes, she could bear anything.
