"Then Beren sprang from before Celegorm full upon the speeding horse of Curufin that had passed him; and the Leap of Beren is renowned among Men and Elves. He took Curufin by the throat from behind, and hurled him backward, and they fell to the ground together. The horse reared and fell, but Lúthien was flung aside, and lay upon the grass. "
- Of Beren and Lúthien
Chapter 4
April 3017, Minas Tirith
The girl in the mirror looked like a princess. Her dark hair cascaded on her shoulders, there were tiny pearls on her brow, and her dress was blue and silver. Lothíriel had never really felt pretty, but now she certainly did, and when she had first seen herself in a mirror she wondered if some kind of magic had been used to achieve this.
In retrospect, she wondered if it had been a good idea to agree to Father's idea – especially when Cuileth and Aunt Ivriniel got wind of it. They seemed to think all was agreed already, and Lothíriel was going to have to choose her future husband in this ball in Minas Tirith. So they had joined their forces and even found a new handmaiden for her, whose achievement it now was that she looked like Imrahil's daughter.
It did terrify her, and as the months had gone by she had got more worried of what precisely would take place once the day of ball came. She had certainly been happy when Father had said it'd have to be postponed for some time: he was too busy in Dol Amroth and so couldn't possibly travel to Minas Tirith with her. She had heard there was more problems concerning corsairs than usually, and Amrothos had said something about how they feared the pirates were trying to get a foothold in Pelargir.
Eventually in February Uncle Denethor had decided that this pirate problem needed to be sorted out, and he had done something to make Lothíriel's heart beat with sudden excitement. Apparently he had sent word for Rohan and asked for riders to help with the affair; she didn't know how horsemen were supposed to help against sea raiders, but evidently it had something to do with luring out the pirates inland and then destroying their vessels.
Whatever were Uncle's plans, she had mostly thought of the Riders who would come to help. Would he be there too? He had been reluctant to see her go, so perhaps he'd seize this chance of returning to Gondor, and seek her out in Minas Tirith? But then, it was more likely that he had forgotten about her, like she had told him to... Lothíriel did not know why, but somehow the idea that he had moved on and wouldn't recognise her if they met again hurt her very deeply. Rationally thinking she knew it would have been for the better if he had continued with his life, but still her heart rebelled at the idea.
She wanted to see him again.
However, she soon heard the Riders had passed very quickly through the White City on their way south, and she had no business going that way. As a matter of fact, if she tried to travel to Pelargir and possibly endanger herself, Father would be so angry with her he might not let her leave home ever again.
But then the battle against the corsairs had turned out victorious, and Denethor's idea to call for the help of Rohirrim had apparently been crucial in bringing down the menace from the sea. So Father had sent word from Pelargir that Lothíriel should journey to Minas Tirith with Amrothos and he'd join them later. According to him this ball thing should not be postponed more, as these days more and more of the nobility were forsaking the city.
And now she was seated there before the mirror, feeling slightly nauseated. Why had she agreed to do this again? How was she supposed to navigate her way in the middle of young unmarried men of the nobility? They were stylish and handsome and suave, and she had no idea of how to talk with them. Granted, her brothers could be like that as well, but they were her brothers. That was an entirely different thing.
A knock on the door distracted her then.
"Sister? Are you ready?" asked the voice of Amrothos. He too preferred Minas Tirith over Dol Amroth, but both he and Erchirion were usually busy serving on Father's ships. So, this chance of travelling to the White City had been a welcome change.
"I am", Lothíriel answered. Her voice came as a squeak and her brother entered.
"You look like you are going to attend to your own execution instead of a ball", he observed and shook his head. "Relax, sister. It's not going to be so bad."
"That's easy for you to say. No one is expecting you to find a husband in this ball", she pointed out.
"I thought Father said you don't have to make up your mind – just to take a look if there's someone you like", Amrothos reminded her and fell lazily to sit on the foot of her bed. He was dressed in dark blue and looked quite dashing. Slightly depressed, Lothíriel wondered why she couldn't be more like him. Everything was always so easy to Amrothos.
"Of course I'm aware of that, but you know our uncle, and he's going to wish at least it's going to be taken care of now. He'd like to have me married already. Otherwise he wouldn't have bothered to organise the ball. He has greater concerns after all", Lothíriel said wearily. A part of her would have torn off her ball gown and hidden in some dark corner until the morning came.
"Would it be so wrong if you did find someone nice, then? The young lords are not so horrible, if you get to know them. Give them a chance, sister", Amrothos coaxed.
"I suppose you're right", she sighed, looking down. "It's just..."
She hesitated, seeking for words. But Amrothos picked up the unsaid without further help.
"You have someone in mind already", realised her brother. Looking at him through the mirror, she saw he was now sitting up straight and was watching her with a surprised look in his eyes. And she knew she couldn't lie. So Lothíriel nodded silently.
"Then what is all this? Go find him in the ball and get things rolling! You needn't waste away in Dol Amroth if there's some fellow you're in love with!" Amrothos said like it was the simplest thing in the world.
"That's just it, brother. He's not going to be there", said the princess in a small, unhappy voice.
"He's of low birth", he said quietly. Now he looked worried.
"Well, I don't know. He never said anything, and... I don't know who he is. But I know enough to understand Father would not allow it", she said miserably.
"Who could it possibly be, for Father to disapprove? He loves you very much, wants you to be happy, and if there is some man who is capable of making you so, then why would he try to prevent it?" Amrothos wondered out loud. Lothíriel hesitated: should she really tell him the truth about the Rider? But now, looking at her brother, she knew he wouldn't let it go before she had told him everything.
"Because this man I am talking about is one of the Rohirrim", she blurted out and cast down her eyes, unable to face the horrified expression that no doubt had risen to the face of Amrothos.
She heard his steps then, and he lay a hand on her shoulder.
"Sister", he said softly, "I agree Rohirrim are a strange bunch, and probably all of them are more or less insane, but why should that be a problem? It's not like Father hates them or something like that. I think you should just speak of it to him."
"No, I don't think so. He told me he'd not give my hand in marriage to a man of Rohan, unless it was the King himself", Lothíriel said, finally daring to look up. Amrothos did not seem horrified; instead, his expression was sympathetic.
"But surely he would-" he tried. After all, he didn't know Father the way she did.
"Amrothos, no! Let it go. This is not your problem. Swear to me you won't say anything of this to Father", she insisted hotly and got up on her feet.
"All right. I swear. I'll keep your secret", Amrothos said and there was surrender in his voice. He looked at her gently, "I still think you should just speak of it with Father. Otherwise it's going to eat out your heart."
"I can manage, brother", she said sharply. But then she sighed, "I'm ready. Let us go and face this beast."
When he had first heard the news that Steward Denethor had asked for Rohirric riders, Éomer's spirits had experienced a fast uplifting. He'd get to ride south again, and there was a chance of finding her again... perhaps he could seek her out, and try to change not only her mind but also her father's.
So he and some of his men had left for Gondor, and it had been obvious that his sister and Éothain were just as happy about this development: they were hoping the journey would fix his reckless attitude of late. And really, he wished for the same precise thing. Though life of a warrior was tumultuous and uncertain, in his heart of hearts he longed for the peace that was in her kiss.
But in Minas Tirith he had not seen her. There had not been any time for seeking her out either, for they had left for the southern part of the realm almost immediately. As they had made their way towards Pelargir, Éomer had wondered if he'd ever find a chance of finding the woman he called Nihtegale in the quiet of his thoughts.
And there was no telling if she even were there anymore, or if she had moved on... perhaps the fates were cruel and he would not see her again in this life.
In all this, the campaign in the south had been more than welcome. Waging war was an effective way of distracting oneself, and on a battlefield he was always able to forget about things outside it. Lord Faramir took part in this quest like before, and there were two princes from the city of Dol Amroth as well: those were the ruling Prince Imrahil himself and his son called Erchirion. Turned out they were kin to Lord Faramir, which was kind of obvious when one saw them together. All three were proud and valiant men, but Imrahil had a mood similar to the one Éomer had already perceived in Faramir before.
They had been victorious in the end, and with some subterfuge Lord Faramir had been able to lure out the pirates into an open battle on land. Only then had they revealed the presence of Rohirric riders, who had besieged the corsair troops, thus giving time for Prince Imrahil's men to charge their ships. The Prince's forces were used to fighting on sea and against ships, so the dismantling of vessels was child's play for them.
Imrahil had then left for Mundburg, as he had some business there, but he had urged the Marshal and his men come after as quick as they could.
"Lord Steward is organising a ball a week from now. It's been quite a while since one was last seen in the White City, and it would be an honour to have Rohirric representation as well. Don't you think it would be a good chance to celebrate our victory in Pelargir?" Prince Imrahil had said and reluctantly Éomer had agreed. Only to Faramir he had confessed his doubts, especially since he didn't think he could appear in the court armoured for war.
But the Steward's son had just waved his hand.
"I think my uncle's idea is brilliant. You should go, Lord Marshal, as we don't get too many opportunities to mingle in each others' societies. It would do good for the relations between the two realms. And don't worry about clothing – just go and talk with my brother once you get to Minas Tirith. He'll help you find out something fitting", Faramir had told him. After that, there really was no way he could say no, and with an uneasy heart he had turned northwards with his men. Faramir and Prince Erchirion stayed behind to tend to the backwash of the battle.
In the end they arrived on the morning of that day when the ball was supposed to take place, and quietly Éomer had hoped it would be too late to find proper ball clothing, but Boromir had no trouble arranging attire for him. It turned out he had one coat that was a bit too large for the man himself but it fit the young Marshal perfectly, and in the end he was standing in his chamber, bathed and polished and dressed like a Gondorian nobleman. Had his men seen him now, they would have laughed themselves silly.
The coat's shade was purple so dark it almost looked black, with golden embroidery about the neck and sleeves. It felt alien, as his preferred colour was green, and it was grander than anything Éomer had ever worn in his life. When he looked at his reflection, he felt like a man who had stolen the King's clothes and now posed as him.
Then someone knocked at the door, and Boromir's voice called: "My lord, may I come in?"
"Of course", answered Éomer, and the older man made way inside. There was a friendly smile on the face of the Captain as he looked at the Marshal from head to toe.
"It looks wonderful. I knew it would be your size, Lord Marshal", he complimented, looking a bit like he had himself sewn the garment. Boromir grinned, "I'm even thinking here perhaps I should gift you with this coat."
"I'm afraid I would have to reject it, Captain, generous as it would be. If I made an appearance in Rohan wearing this, no one would ever take me seriously again. The Rohirrim have strange ideas about men and their clothing", Éomer said, trying for a light tone. Boromir laughed.
"Oh, I did not realise that. Well, you're always welcome to borrow it when you visit our city", he said. Gingerly he lifted a hand, "My lord, may I fix the collar? It looks a bit awkward."
"Go ahead, Captain", said the Marshal, and the Steward's son busied himself with arranging the coat's collar. Who knew clothing could be so complicated?
"Unfortunately this is an inevitable part of being a high-born man in Gondor. We are quite fond of our frilly feathers", Boromir said good-humouredly.
"Perhaps both our peoples could learn something of each other", suggested Éomer.
"You're quite right, I deem. For one, the fearless spirit of your people is something we need right now", Boromir said and an edge appeared in his voice; it was not hard to guess that the same shadows that increasingly unsettled the young Marshal were worrying the Captain.
"I must confess, I do not feel so fearless at the moment. After all, it is the first time I attend to a Gondorian court gathering", Éomer said uneasily. It brought the good cheer back to the older man's face, and he gave the Rohir a friendly pat on the shoulder.
"Don't worry about it. You're not going to be devoured out there. I should imagine everyone is excited to meet you, as we don't get Rohirric guests here so often", he comforted the Marshal. "Perhaps I should introduce you to my little cousin – she'd take good care of you."
"Your cousin?" Éomer asked gingerly. He had a vague memory of Faramir mentioning he might intimidate her. Clearly the two brothers had a very different idea of this cousin of theirs.
"Princess Lothíriel, who is daughter to Prince Imrahil. You met him in south, didn't you? She mostly stays here in Minas Tirith and she can't really be called a court butterfly, but no one has a more extensive knowledge of the books in this city than she does", Boromir said. He grinned, "Just tell her about Rohan, and she'll be asking you for more stories for the rest of the night."
"Ah, yes", said the young Marshal. He was already more than little worried how this evening would turn out.
"Now, are you ready, Lord Marshal?" asked Boromir.
"I'm not going to get any more ready than this, Captain", said Éomer with a weak little smile. It appeared to amuse the older man, and then they began the way for the Great Hall of Feasts.
The hall of Merethrond was already filling with guests when Lothíriel arrived by the side of her father. It had been years since she had attended a feast here, but she could right away tell the crowd was not what it used to be in years of old.
Still, as she gazed about herself, Lothíriel again felt the urge to turn around and run back home. But that was not what she could do, and so she glanced at her father beside her. He gave her a gentle little smile.
"Everything all right?" he asked softly.
"I'm fine. Just a bit nervous", she answered.
"It's going to be wonderful, I promise. There's even one special guest from Rohan", he said.
"From Rohan?" Lothíriel asked quickly, trying to mask her surprise. Evidently he didn't notice it as he didn't look like her tone sounded odd to him.
"Yes. You know those Rohirrim who came here at your uncle's request? They returned earlier today, and the man leading them – Marshal Éomer he is called – is here tonight. I should think he would be glad to tell you about his land", Father said. She nodded quietly as they made way inside, but to herself the princess was wondering if she could at some point sneak out and try to find him. Perhaps he was here somewhere, in the barracks waiting for his lord's commands. It was somehow painful to know he could very well be so close, and it was unlikely he had any idea she was here now... oh, what would she give for one moment with him - for one instance of gazing into his dark eyes and seeing her own longing answered!
But those thoughts had to be put aside, for Father then introduced to her to some friends of his, and she had to concentrate on being sociable. What followed seemed like an endless parade of faces and names, half of which she wasn't sure she'd remember afterwards.
Eventually they stopped by two young men.
"Daughter, here are the Lords Galdegir and Olthor. My lords, this is Princess Lothíriel my daughter", he introduced them, and she curtsied at the two noblemen. Judging by their looks, they had to be cousins at least. Both had same dark brown hair that had a tendency to curl. The shorter of the two had brown eyes as well, but the other's greater share of Númenoréan blood was evidenced by his taller build and grey eyes, which were very bright. Good-looking they both were, and dressed as finely you would expect only a nobleman of Gondor to dress.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady. I'm Galdegir, and this is my cousin", said the tall one as he graciously picked up her hand for a kiss. His eyes sparkled and he winked at her, all the while holding a breathtaking smile.
"Pleasure is all mine", said Lothíriel. She gave him a polite smile, but hoped he wouldn't make too much out of it.
"How fares your mother Lady Saeriel, Lord Olthor?" Father asked.
"Not too well lately, Lord Prince. She is not quite recovered yet from the passing of my father", said the young man and shook his head.
"I'm sad to hear that. I'd have you give her my regards when you see her", said the Prince.
"That I will, my lord", Olthor answered.
"Lady Lothíriel, I must say I would not have recognised you had your lord father not introduced you. From our last meeting I seem to recall a gangly girl who was all knees and elbows", Galdegir said, his eyes fixed on the princess. Perhaps Elbereth was smiling on her somewhere, as she didn't blush.
"Well, I don't take part in gatherings very often, my lord. And these days it doesn't seem like there is a cause for celebration", she answered gingerly.
"Quite the opposite, Lady Princess. It is in the times like these that the life itself should be celebrated and honoured, for a day may come very soon that none of us are here to enjoy it anymore", said Galdegir and sipped his wine. "Life is a gift that should be revelled before it is too late."
"My cousin here has the right of it", Olthor put in, evidently reluctant to let his kinsman have all the spotlight. "Especially ladies as beautiful as yourself should not be locked away in the fading of the light."
"My lord, you should not imply my father here has kept me locked somewhere. I'm just not the most sociable kind", Lothíriel answered awkwardly. She had to fight in order not to let her smile turn tense.
"Is there such a thing as an unsociable young lady?" Galdegir asked, which made his cousin laugh; the princess let out a clumsy little laugh too. He went on, "I must say, such thing is something I have not encountered before!"
"Lords, I must confess I sometimes suspect my daughter prefers the company of the books over people", Father said, apparently oblivious to her discomfort. His words had the two cousins laughing, but Lothíriel watched their faces closely and judging by the look in Galdegir's eyes, she felt that if she were to wed this young man, his first act as her husband would be to take away her books. The thought made her feel unwell, but she was able to mask her thoughts.
"Well, usually books articulate and explain themselves more reasonably than most people", she said, her tone lighter than she'd have expected.
"You need to meet more people and less books, my lady", said Galdegir. Now it was obvious: in his household, she'd never have a book to read.
"Perhaps you could sometimes suggest me some favourites of yours, Princess? If what you say is true, I truly need to read more", said Olthor for his part.
"Of course. That would be my pleasure", Lothíriel said and smiled at him. It was genuine this time.
She cast a glance at her father, "Father, you said you knew Lord Olthor's mother?"
"Indeed I did. She often stayed in the court of Dol Amroth when she was young. I suppose we were something like childhood sweethearts. But then Lord Olthor's father came along, and I was presented with rejection", he answered with a fond little smile.
"I do not suppose I should be telling this, but whenever my mother was cross with my father, she'd scream quite loudly that she chose him over the Prince of Dol Amroth, so he best behave according to it. But even if she sometimes said such things, she loved him very much", Olthor said, which made the Prince and Lothíriel laugh.
"Yes, your lady mother did have a very impressive voice, in par with her temper", said Father. He looked like he'd have said something more, but then Galdegir spoke out again, evidently displeased for being left out of the conversation for so long. He fixed his eyes on the princess.
"My lady, I was here wondering if the books are all you spend your time with. Surely a lady so accomplished must have other hobbies as well?" he asked.
"I like riding, my lord. But I don't have a horse of my own", she said softly.
"Something I've been thinking of redeeming. A horsewoman as good as you ought to have steed of her own", Father commented.
"Really?" she asked in delight.
"Yes, dear daughter. I know how much you love your riding trips, and Faramir tells me you've taken most wonderful care of his horse", he said, smiling softly at her. Had they not been on the front of the court she'd have hugged him tight right there.
"Thank you, Father!" Lothíriel said happily, making a mental note of having to shower him with kisses and hugs later.
"You care for your cousin's horse, Lady Princess? And you approve of it, Prince Imrahil?" Galdegir asked. He did not seem too impressed by these news. Now there was another thing he'd forbid as her husband.
"Why shouldn't I? It is a useful skill for one to master, to care for one's horse. And if you asked Lord Éomer of Rohan, who is present tonight, he'd probably tell you even the infants in his land know how to handle horses", Father said calmly.
"That sounds very fascinating. I must seek out this quaint fellow... Lord Éomer you called him?" said Galdegir, though to the princess it did not really sound like he wanted to have anything to do with any man of Rohan. And to call him quaint! Oh, if he had heard, he'd no doubt make Galdegir regret those words.
But Galdegir was not quite done yet for the night. He looked at Father, "My lord, I was hoping to ask whether I would be allowed to walk with your daughter for a bit."
"Of course, if Lothíriel herself wills it", said the Prince, and she had to fight an urge to say that no, she did not will it. That would have been poor behaviour however, and so she answered the man's smile and placed her hand on his arm.
"As I said, you are very beautiful tonight, my lady. I truly did have hard time believing it was you, seeing how you have changed since the last time we met", said Galdegir as they slowly strolled through the crowd.
"I just happen to have a good handmaiden, is all", Lothíriel said softly. To herself she wondered if there were any way she could have used for an escape.
"Anyone may be an artist but if the raw material is not prime, then the result is not going to be too extraordinary either", he said and smiled charmingly at the princess. She was able to answer that smile, if a bit weakly.
"Would you like some wine, my lady?" he asked then.
"Perhaps a little bit. I don't usually drink it", she agreed, and they turned towards where the refreshments were served. Lothíriel waited by when he got them glasses of wine, which took longer than she'd have thought, but eventually he returned to her with a glass in each hand. She accepted the offered drink with thanks and took a sip; it was red wine instead of her preferred white, and the taste was heavy and somehow stuffy on her tongue.
"How do you like it?" asked Galdegir.
"It's good. Usually, I pass it however. Father doesn't like me drinking too much", she answered.
"If you allow such an observation, that father of yours does seem to lock you up too much, my lady", he said. A slight frown had come to his face. Lothíriel took another sip of wine, if only to try and come up with a proper thing to say.
"He's my father. He knows what is the best for me", she said carefully.
"But with all due respect, you're not a child anymore, Princess", Galdegir pointed out.
"No. I'm not", Lothíriel answered softly. In all honesty, the man did have a point.
"You should live a little, my lady. Life is not just books or attending to an overbearing parent", he told her. It was a good thing – at least for him – that Father was not hearing this conversation. Otherwise all interaction would have very quickly ended... which just might prove Galdegir right in another way.
"I am happy as it is", she said, not really sure if she liked this topic. Her head felt heavy and she sipped her drink again to clear it.
"Is that actually true, my lady? If you mind me asking? You don't seem very happy to me at least", noted the nobleman. He was watching her very closely and something about it unsettled her a bit.
"My lord, I'm not sure we know each other well enough to be having this conversation", she said. The wine didn't help at all: the heaviness in her head was starting to turn into dizziness.
"Of course. I beg your pardon", Galdegir said hurriedly. He frowned, "You don't seem too well, my lady. Perhaps we should go out for a bit, get you some fresh air?"
"I..." she mumbled, not clear-headed enough to really form any coherent sentence. He appeared to think that warranted him taking action, and firmly he began to lead her towards the doors that led into the garden.
How he got her out and all the way to the other side of the garden where he sat her down on a bench, Lothíriel wasn't so sure. Colours flashed in her eyes and though her mouth tried to form the word "Father" she couldn't get out even a whimper. It helped a little when she was seated and the spinning in her head subsided slightly, but the princess still felt very unwell and dizzy.
"Let us sit here for a while. You'll feel better in a moment", he promised. He smiled indulgently, "Perhaps your father is not so wrong after all when he tells you not to drink."
"Mm", was all she could muster. She wished she could have laid herself down here and perhaps slept... for hours, preferably.
"Lady Lothíriel... you are radiant as a star", Galdegir murmured then. She thought of telling him that was absurd, considering her current state. But that would have required too many words.
"T-thank you", she mumbled.
"It's not just a flatter. I mean every word. And this moment I find myself completely captivated by your beauty and charm... Princess, I do not believe it is a coincidence we met tonight. No, it is far more than that. I would call it destiny..." he said and went on ranting about things like she'd have expected a knight to blurt out in one of Cuileth's beloved romances... she didn't listen to him but instead concentrated on not throwing up on him. If only she had been able to speak or shout, and she could have called for Father or Amrothos!
Her line of thought was disrupted, for Galdegir's hand was now on her chin, and he turned her face towards himself.
"... and I know you feel the same. Please, tell me yes", he murmured, but she had no idea what he wanted her to agree to.
"Um", Lothíriel managed.
"Please", he breathed, and now he was close, and suddenly his lips were on hers, and just what in the name of Great Eru was this, she didn't remember telling him he could kiss her...
She tried to pull back but he wouldn't let her go. Lothíriel gasped and he took the opportunity, and his mouth tasted like wine... in her panic, she bit him in his tongue.
Galdegir cried out in pain and pulled back. His eyes were wide with shock.
"You bit me! Why did you do that!" he demanded to know.
"Let me go", she mumbled. But he grabbed her by shoulders and she couldn't shake off his hands.
"Please, my lady, I only meant-" he tried.
"Let me go!" Lothíriel exclaimed now.
"Princess-" he started... but then, he came.
He appeared from the shadowy evening like a charging lion. Galdegir did not even have a chance of reacting before he was torn away from her and tossed aside like he was nothing more than a rag doll. He yelped and more or less flew into a bush, and Lothíriel thought she'd burst in tears, for her Rider was here; he had come back to her beyond all hope, right on the moment she had most needed him. And there he stood in between her and Galdegir, his tall figure tense as though a great cat preparing for the killing strike.
"The Lady said no", he said, his voice cold and loud, "and I was under the impression that Gondorian noblemen have respect for such thing."
"How dare you! Don't you know who I am, you savage?" Galdegir exclaimed as he climbed up on his feet.
"I don't know and I don't care. Now get you gone, or I will have your hide in a true savage fashion", said the Rider in an unaffected air fit for a king - indeed, he might have been one, dismissing a loathsome subject. Galdegir fumed but he seemed to understand this opponent was beyond him. He spat on the ground and turned, striding away from the scene.
The Rohir stood there until Galdegir was gone, but then he abruptly turned towards Lothíriel. He fell on one knee before her and searched her face with concerned eyes.
"Nihtegale, are you all right? Did he hurt you?" he asked.
"I... I'm not feeling so good", she mumbled, hating herself for ruining this reunion like so; she ought to have thrown herself into his arms and sobbed her thanks and told him how she had missed him...
He took note of the glass beside her on the bench and carefully smelled it. Evidently he didn't like the scent, for he wrinkled his nose and poured the rest of it into a bush. Then he looked at her again and concern returned into his eyes.
"Lady, I know this is not pleasant but I would have you empty your stomach of whatever it was he put in your drink. Can you do that?" he asked.
"Yes. If you help me", Lothíriel uttered. Actually, the idea of retching did seem very tempting.
"Of course. Now, may I lift you up? I don't think this is the best place for vomiting", he said then. His eyes were still intently fixed on her, as if he expected her to vanish.
"You may", answered the princess. Wasting no time, he got up on his feet and lifted her from the bench. She liked how that felt, how effortlessly he carried her... how safe she felt in his arms. He had come back.
He found them a shadowy corner nearby, and as soon as she was on her knees and he held back her hair, Lothíriel retched. It wasn't too hard to do that when she thought of Galdegir and how his mouth had felt like. Once she was done and the wine was out, she felt a bit better, though there was still heaviness in her head. The Rider helped her up on her feet, but kept an arm around her; she knew it was because he feared she might fall, but she welcomed it.
"Do you still feel ill?" he asked.
"A little bit. But it's not so bad anymore. I think I'll live", Lothíriel answered. She gave him a smile, "Thank you. I don't know how I'd have got rid of him alone."
"Don't mention it", he answered gently. And the way he looked at her, with so much tenderness in his dark eyes, like she was the most precious thing in the world... it all came to her then, those months of yearning and thinking she'd not set eyes on him again...
A moan escaped her mouth and she threw her arms about him, though the sudden movement did nothing for her feeling of dizziness. But he caught her and pulled her close, he was there, and she knew she would never be able to let go.
"I missed you", she mumbled into his shoulder, weak with the relief that was seeing him again and having him so close.
"Likewise", he answered quietly. "And you should know that I have died every day of this past year because of your absence."
"If only you knew how I've regretted not telling you yes when you asked me to come with you... I should have followed you", she told him and looked up, drinking in the sight of him.
"I'm here now", said the Rohir softly.
"You asked for a name", said the princess then. What reason was there for secrecy now? "It's Lothíriel. My name is Lothíriel."
"Lothíriel, daughter of Imrahil?" he asked with some surprise.
She looked up, "You know my father?"
"I have met him. We fought corsairs together in south", he answered, watching her with slight frown, "and now I understand why you said your father would not allow this."
"Maybe he'll change his mind", she said weakly.
"Yes", he agreed and sudden hope came to his face, "I am a Marshal of the Mark now. It means I am one of the King's chief lieutenants and a warden of the eastern lands of Rohan. I could provide for you, the way I would not have been able before. I... it is probably very small compared to what you're used to, but you would be one of the highest ladies in the land, and there is nothing I would not do to make you happy."
"Dearest heart", she said softly, "I would have come with you even when I thought you were but an ordinary Rider."
But then she remembered something her father had said, and her brow furrowed, "You said you're Marshal? Are you... is your name Éomer?"
"It is. How did you know?" he asked, tracing her cheek with his free hand.
"Father mentioned it before. And here I thought you were just an ordinary rider!" Lothíriel said, her heart racing with sudden hope. Perhaps there was a chance for them...
She'd have said more, but then there was a shout: "Lothíriel! Lothíriel!"
It was her father, and there was no mistaking the panic in his voice. The princess was disappointed that the reunion had to come to an end so soon, but she couldn't just hide in the garden with her Marshal either, not when Father sounded so worried.
"She's here, my lord!" Éomer called in a strong voice. Carefully he started to escort her towards where Imrahil's voice had come from - she still had to lean heavily on him, as she did not trust her feet to carry her.
Father came half-running towards them, and instantly at the sight of the two he frowned in anger.
"Take your hands off my daughter!" he exclaimed.
"It's all right – he was helping – I'm not really-" Lothíriel tried, but then Father was there and he more or less grabbed her from the Marshal's sheltering arms.
"I'm sorry, my lord. I did not mean to overstep any lines. I was-" said the tall man, but Father didn't seem too eager to listen.
"Spare me your excuses, Lord Éomer! You may rest assured that Steward Denethor will hear about this, and your own king!" he ranted angrily.
"Father", Lothíriel called him then, using one of those low tones that weren't so loud but always caught his attention. He looked at her sharply.
"It is very unfitting of you to scold and insult the man who just assisted me. Lord Éomer here", - oh, what bliss it was to say that name! - "came across me when I was in some distress. I'm not feeling too well – he was just helping me to stay upright."
Father blinked and only then did he seem to take a proper look at her. She knew she couldn't be too fresh a sight after being effectively drugged and then emptying most of the contents of her stomach in the garden. The Prince's expression first became soft and then embarrassed. He turned to look at the tall Rohir again.
"My apologies, Lord Marshal. One should not jump into conclusions like that – I ought to know you're an honourable man", he said, sounding abashed now.
"It is all right", said Éomer nonchalantly. But then a fierce frown appeared on his face, and made him look terrible, even though she knew it was not because her or her father. He said, "I would not say the same about a certain young man who was not showing your daughter every courtesy."
Father looked from the Marshal back to Lothíriel with some puzzlement.
"I'll explain everything when we get home, Father. I don't think this is the best place for it, lest you become angry", said the Princess tiredly.
"If you insist", he answered, though his expression implied the matter would be discussed very thoroughly.
He nodded his head towards the Rohir then, "I'm afraid we must take our leave now. If my daughter is not well I should take her home. My thanks for your help, Lord Marshal."
"It was an honour", said the golden-haired man softly. Briefly his eyes rested on Lothíriel and she recognised the yearning look – she knew something similar must be in her own eyes. She didn't want to leave him, not now when she had only found him again.
Now was the time to go, however, and she and Father turned around to return inside. But as they went, she cast a look over her shoulder and mouthed two words to the man she had not thought to see again.
"Sunrise. Stables."
A/N: Wild Hearts remain wild as far as it goes for updating. Oh well, I believe it is well established by now that I am insane and sometimes I update like there is no tomorrow.
Éomer has now returned to Gondor and he has found Lothíriel. We'll see how this develops from here... I'm already snickering into my beard, because I'm having too much fun with this piece. I can also tell Galdegir will be making another appearance, and the consequences of his rather evil actions in this chapter will be discussed in the next chapter. But nasty as he is I don't think he's completely wrong about Imrahil.
I know I originally said there would be 5 chapters tops but by now it is obvious I can't possibly fit the whole story to just that. At the moment I'm thinking of 8 chapters or possibly 10. I suppose this doesn't really come as surprise to you.
Inspiration for the chapter: Thomas Bergersen - Nero
Talia119 - That's exactly what I thought. At that point he's convinced anyway he's not going to see Lothíriel again, so he tries what he can to forget her. But turns out she's just not forgettable, not to him.
Kiiimberly - I just love the idea that someone can stay with you like that, even if you've only seen little of each other.
Le Pleiade - Hopefully this chapter explains it a bit more. Lothíriel's sad mood is because of different things: feeling like she's not good enough, that she doesn't fit this world where she was born into, and having no place where she could truly felt at peace. Imrahil doesn't really help it, being the kind of parent he is to her. He doesn't realise it himself, though - he just loves his daughter too much. This will be discussed a bit later on, I think.
not paranoid enough - Good to hear that! :)