Now Beren and Lúthien Tinuviel went free again and together walked through the woods renewing for a time their joy; and though winter came it hurt them not, for flowers lingered where Lúthien went, and the birds sang beneath the snowclad hills.
- Of Beren and Lúthien
Chapter 8
Prince Théodred of Rohan was, truthfully speaking, kind of a nice-looking man. Perhaps he was not quite as comely as his cousin, but he had an easy smile and friendly grey eyes. Dark-haired he was too, though the shade was slightly lighter than what one usually saw in Gondor. Where Éomer had inherited the height of the Men of West, Prince Théodred had their eyes and hair.
When Uncle introduced the two of them Lothíriel was somehow able to summon a smile, though in the back of her mind lived a thought that perhaps she should glare at the man and bite his hand. However, she knew she had to wait and see, for it was entirely possible this man already knew of the relationship between his cousin and her. And anyway, Father had said there was really no way this meeting could be cancelled. Prince Théodred had come all the way from Rohan and he deserved at least a polite welcome.
Still, when she had looked at her father that day Lothíriel had felt that perhaps some of her ire had finally started to work on him. There were times when he'd look at her and seem somehow worried and uncertain, and she hoped he was starting to understand. It had been almost a year since Éomer had last visited the White City but she had yet to show any signs of giving up on him.
But now his cousin was there on the front of her, and though he had to be almost twice as old as her, he was looking far more sympathetic than she had pictured him in her sour and defiant imaginations.
"It is an honour to meet you, Princess Lothíriel", he greeted her and even gave her a kiss on her knuckles, like a proper courtier.
"Likewise, my lord", she managed; there was just the barest hint of stiffness in her voice.
"We have much looked forward to this moment, Prince Théodred. I at least hope it is the beginning of a long and lasting alliance", said Uncle, and his words almost turned Lothíriel's smile dour. But she reminded herself he was supposed to say things like that, and anyway it hadn't yet dawned to him that her agreement to come and attend this dinner didn't mean her surrender.
"Of course. I am glad that you invited me", said the Prince graciously.
"The dinner is not yet set, but perhaps the two of you would enjoy a moment of getting to know each other a bit better?" suggested the Steward.
"That would be a pleasure", Prince Théodred answered and offered Lothíriel his arm. Suppressing a sigh, she placed a hand there and wondered how she'd ever get out of this situation cleanly. After all, for all her hopes she had no idea if this man were willing to step aside for the sake of his cousin. Who knew what he'd think when and if he heard that this princess already reserved her heart for someone who was not a prince? For all she knew, he might consider it a grave insult to be promised a princess as a wife, and then find she was not agreeable.
The Rohir lead her to the side of the hall, close to a window. He cast a brief glance around and there was a look in his eyes she didn't really understand. Lothíriel wondered what was going on in his mind but she'd be damned if she'd be the one to start the conversation. She may have promised to her father to attend this supper and perhaps even talk with the man she was supposed to marry, but that was really the extent of what she was willing to do.
However, Prince Théodred was evidently quite oblivious to all this... and what he said took her by surprise.
"My lady, I do not believe in idle and purposeless talk, so I will just go straight to what I have in mind. I have some news for you, but I must ask you to remain calm", he said softly. Now that surprised her even more, but at his words she did all she could to force a vaguely interested look on her face.
"What is it, my lord?" she asked in a low voice. At last a smile came to the face of the Rohirric prince.
"Éomer is here. He came with me, and he sends his regards", he said and his voice was little more than a whisper.
The princess had to turn and bite her knuckles in order not to squeal or perhaps shriek. Éomer had come! He was here, now, and she would see him again! Oh, this had to be a dream, for she had not dared to hope something so wonderful might happen after what her Uncle had arranged.
"My lady, are you all right?" asked the prince, noticing her emotional turmoil.
"I am. I'm fine", she breathed and gave him a beaming smile, "Your news have just made me very happy."
"You have missed my cousin greatly?" he asked softly.
"More than I could ever tell you, my lord. The mere idea that he's so close... it'll be a wonder indeed if I'm able to sit through the dinner", she said and let out a small laugh that sounded just a bit hysterical. She even wondered half-seriously if her father and uncle would mind too much if she just ran away right now...
Prince Théodred answered her smile now.
"To be honest, I did consider telling some of my men to tie him up, lest he comes here to look for you. My cousin has missed you as well... I do not think he was ever the same since he first visited this city and met you. And I now see the reason for it, Lady Princess", he said gently. "The moment I saw you, I understood why you have my cousin so under your spell."
"Just like he has me", Lothíriel said softly, thinking of the fiery dark eyes that she'd hopefully see soon... shaking herself, she cast a more focused look at the prince, "My lord, could I perhaps ask you to speak in Éomer's favour to Lord Denethor my uncle?"
"Of course. I already promised him that I'd do what I can. Though I am come to visit this city and you, I have no intention of trying to stand between you andmy cousin", Théodred reassured her. "Oh, I almost forgot. He asks if he could see you, perhaps as soon as tonight?"
"Tell him to come to the stables around midnight. I'll try and sneak out... there are only so many places and times you can meet someone in private if the general opinion is that you should not be together", she sighed. A sympathetic look came to the Rohir's face.
"Despair not, my lady. As they say in my land: 'where there is will, there is a way'", he said in comforting tones. He smiled, "In other words, if you're stubborn enough, you'll get what you want."
"Valar bless the Rohirrim!" Lothíriel could but say, unable to hold back her giggles.
Their conversation came to an end then as the dinner was served, and the retinue took their seats around the table. For the princess it took quite the strength of character to be able to sit still and even occasionally take part in the discussions; her mind was with the man she had not seen in a year. But now their reunion was at hand again, and the moment she'd have him in her arms again could not come soon enough.
When she and her father returned home that night, he cast a hopeful glance at her.
"You seemed to get along very well with the Prince", he commented tentatively. Lothíriel gave him a brilliant smile.
"Oh, that was because he told me that Éomer is here, and promised to talk with uncle about which in truth would be the best arrangement when it comes to my hand in marriage", she told him. There was no point in hiding it, was there?
Father frowned and a troubled look came to his face, but he wasn't angry.
"I should have known", he muttered and shook his head.
"Would it really be so bad to at least give him a chance, Father?" she asked him, her voice soft and hopeful.
"Daughter, haven't we had this conversation enough times already? You know what is my stance", he said tiredly. Now it was her turn to frown.
"And you know mine", she told him and spoke no more on their way home. To herself she wondered how this would turn out... and shivered.
At this point, the whole sneaking out thing went far smoother than any proper princess should ever be able. Perhaps it had also something to do with how lately it had seemed that Father had cut her some slack... though she could but wonder how it'd turn out now that Éomer was in the city again. Certainly if Father knew how easily she could slip out of the house he might have placed guards under her very window.
On her way to the Citadel guards stopped her – that thing had changed at least – but she had made some implications about having certain womanly pains and so was in the need of assistance from the Houses of Healing, and the guards let her go along. As far as Lothíriel could tell, men were frightened by these things, and especially the fury of women.
But before she reached the stables, a fear took a hold of her heart: what if he wouldn't be there? What if she went there only to have her expectation proved in vain? Oh, she had waited for him an entire year, and now it felt like each moment ticking by turned the pain of his absence worse...
At last she entered and instantly her seeking eyes saw him.
There he was, standing by the stall of his horse... but at the sound of her feet, he turned around. Though it was night and the stables were dim, there was enough light for her to see his face and the look of happiness on his features. But then she was on the front of him and she threw herself in his arms.
Oh, his arms! That familiar solid form was there against her once more, and there was so much: his scent, the way he held her, the feel of his hair and beard and skin... having him there was like coming home.
Words were not needed, not quite yet. He seemed to feel the same way, as he spoke not – only held her tight. The longest time was spent just so in silence, until the princess tiptoed and pressed her lips on his.
Lothíriel was out of breath and thinking of things that could potentially have very ruinous results by the time the kiss ended. When she pulled back to gasp for some air, she could see that he too had something similar tempting him, but somehow Éomer was able to hold himself in line.
"Missed you", he hoarsely uttered.
"As I did you", she answered. "You've been gone far too long."
"Aye", he agreed and pulled her into another kiss.
It took a while before greetings had been properly exchanged. They might have continued even longer, but the amount of time was not endless and some words ought to be exchanged.
"How long are you going to be here this time?" she asked at last, though she made no gesture as to move away from his arms.
"Only for a week or so. Both my cousin and myself are needed back in Rohan – we can't tarry here for too long", Éomer answered. Only a week! Against the year she had spent missing him, a week seemed like a blink of an eye. Yet she understood it could not be helped, and her longings were not more important than his and Prince Théodred's duties in their own land. And in the end, one week was better than nothing. With him, she knew she could live for a year's worth.
"Théodred told you what he intends?" asked her beloved.
"He did. He said he's going to talk with Lord Denethor about it", said the princess. She worried her lip, "Do you think he might succeed in persuading my uncle?"
"You tell me. You know the Steward better than I do", Éomer answered quietly. "I wonder how easy it will be, now that my uncle the King has decided to support Gríma Wormtongue's idea..."
"Who is that man anyway? Uncle Denethor spoke of him, and he had said all these horrible things about you... why would anyone spew such stories?" she asked.
Something angry came to the face of the Marshal. A flash of hatred was in his dark eyes and she could feel the tension in his body, but quickly he had his emotions again under control.
"Gríma Wormtongue is an adviser to my uncle. He has been in that position for some years now, and ever his influence over the King grows... he's not a good man, Lothíriel. I can't prove anything but I believe he's working for a greater master – a wizard we once thought our friend. He's trying to subdue our realm by weakening our king", Éomer explained in a strained voice and his frown deepened, "I can't say for sure what he means to achieve by having Théodred marry you, other than to drive me out of my mind. Then again, that would suit him well I suppose."
"So he has convinced my uncle that you're trouble – a drunkard who chases after women and whatnot", she said, her voice turning into a growl. Oh, had that so called lord been here now, he'd have found needles in various unpleasant places!
"The worst thing is his lies have an inkling of truth. For before our meeting last year, I was... I did not behave too well back in Rohan. I was trying to forget you, like you told me to, though my methods were not decent", he said and a shadow fell on his face. His words might have had a stronger impact on her had she not seen the self-disgust in his eyes. Her Marshal sighed, "I swear I've changed my ways since then, and I have no other mistress than yourself, my dear princess. If you trust nothing else, then trust my constancy to you."
"I do. I've never doubted it, beloved", she told him, which seemed to bring him some solace. But then he buried his face in her hair and let out a heavy breath.
"Sweet Lothíriel... I'm afraid your father was right after all. I don't deserve you and your love", he murmured. Gently, she lifted his face so that she could see his eyes. She gave him a gentle smile.
"Let me be the judge of that", said the princess. Her words eased his expression and Éomer answered her smile. Some more kissing took place, and by the end of it she felt mended. He was here, and though the fates would again take him away from her soon, she decided not to worry about it now. And who knew? Maybe this time things would go smoother.
"Will I see you tomorrow?" she asked then.
"Perhaps I can arrange something with my cousin. Can you at least come here at nightfall?" he asked back.
"I'm not sure. I need to be careful, lest someone finds out I've been sneaking out of my father's house", Lothíriel answered, frowning slightly. She did not want to lose these precious few moments she had with her beloved Rider.
"Of course", he said softly, resting a hand on her cheek. The look in those dark eyes of his was very warm and soft, and he said, "You look tired, dear one. You ought to go and have some rest."
"But that would mean having to let go of you, and... I can't do that just yet. Not when you've been away for an entire year", Lothíriel murmured. He made a noise that sounded like an agreement and her dear Rohir held her a bit tighter.
"I promise we'll find some way", he whispered and kissed her once more, and for the moment she believed him.
An entire week was spent in the social gatherings that – at least if you asked Lord Denethor – had but one purpose: to familiarise the Crown Prince of Rohan with the Princess of Dol Amroth, and upon his departure to announce that in a year or two's time a marriage would take place between the two.
However, as the days went by it became more clear that he was really the only one who wholeheartedly supported this idea. Prince Théodred was always courteous and charming when he interacted with Lothíriel, but with her he never showed the interest of a man looking for a wife, and he'd always bring his cousin along, if he was able. If Éomer were present, there was but one person Lothíriel had eyes for.
The Marshal shared the sentiment, and Prince Imrahil observed this with what Lothíriel recognised as growing concern. As for what grew for her uncle, it was frustration and even indignation. But as Prince Théodred was a born royal and the son of King Théoden, there was not really any polite way Lord Denethor could tell him not to take his cousin with him to the occasions that had been planned to make him familiar to the Princess.
However, once the Prince did confess to her his doubt if it had been such a good idea to bring along the Marshal.
"I have indeed tried to speak of these matters with your uncle, but he is best described as unresponsive. It feels like each word of Éomer makes the Steward more opposed to him, to the point where it is not even a rational emotion anymore... he firmly believes the lies of Gríma Wormtongue, though I've done my best to make clear how untruthful those words were", Théodred said and shook his head. "My lady, if you allow such an observation, it doesn't seem to me like your uncle admires boldness in any other man than himself, and perhaps his son the Captain Boromir."
These words of Théodred did trouble her, but Lothíriel had no idea of how to undo what damage had already been done in the matter of her potential marriage to Éomer. When she spoke of these things with her beloved, he said even the most stubborn man must give in eventually if all the odds are against him.
"Would you give in then?" she asked him quietly and he couldn't answer. Increasingly she wondered if eloping indeed was the only way she could ever share a life with him.
Yet there were also moments that brought her hope. One of those times was when Prince Théodred invited her for a ride, and asked her father to accompany them as well. Apparently Father didn't have it in himself to reject the invitation, and so a very pleasant afternoon was spent outside. Some of the Rohirric company performed their prowess in horsemanship, and the two cousins were charming as ever. Lothíriel even spied her father looking troubled at times, like he didn't quite know what to think. When they went home that day he was very quiet but she could tell the outing had given him much food for thought.
But the best of this all was when she was able to sneak away and find her dear Marshal in the shadows of the stables or perhaps the garden of Houses of Healing. Together they'd sit and speak of their lives, of Gondor and Rohan, and of a future together. He'd tell her of Aldburg, where he hoped to bring her one day with him, and the warm tones of Éomer's voice took her far away to the land of Rohan. It was like a dream, to imagine a life there...
One such time, she asked him: "Do you think your people would welcome a princess among them?"
"As my wife? I don't see why they wouldn't. Though I wonder if they'd ever get used to you – Marshals don't usually wed high Gondorian princesses, you see. When Éothain heard of you, he said only I could be so deranged as to fall in love with a lady of your standing", said Éomer with a slight smile. "But then, they say the men of my line were born with more north in their veins than most."
"Is that a nice way of saying you are all lunatics?" Lothíriel asked sweetly, at which he growled in mock offence, and he imprisoned her under himself for a long kiss.
However, these sweet moments were fleeting, and soon the week was over... and this brief abandon ended in a banquet where she was meant to be engaged to a man she didn't want.
Just before the banquet, Théodred came to see if his cousin were ready for the night's socialising. When he came Éomer had just finished trimming his beard and the final look in the mirror had confirmed what he knew anyway: there was nothing one could really do about the northerness of his appearance. But then, why should he change what he was?
"Are you done polishing yourself already?" asked his cousin good-humouredly when he let his cousin enter the chamber.
"Hmph. You're not the one who has yet to convince a stubborn man that you're not a crazy drunkard whose only interest in his kinswoman is defiling her", snorted the Marshal.
"Surely he doesn't think so badly of you", Théodred tried, but the younger man gave him a glare that very much spoke don't go there. The prince sighed, but still accepted a glass of wine from his cousin. He took a sip of it and then regarded Éomer with that face which usually meant business.
"I was thinking maybe it'd be good if we are tonight on our very best behaviour. Be very charming and polite, that sort of thing. I don't know if it will have any immediate effect, but I believe we should leave a good parting impression of ourselves. It might help the Steward and the Prince Imrahil to change their minds", he said
"It won't help with Théoden, though", said the Marshal, frowning as he spoke.
"Maybe not, but if Lord Denethor were inclined to consider an arrangement where you're the bridegroom to the Princess, Father would have to check his stance too", Théodred pointed out.
"Aye", Éomer agreed, but he didn't still feel untroubled. He looked down, "I'm not quite sure how I should be able to leave her yet again."
His cousin placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a sympathetic look.
"You're not going to give up, are you?" asked the Prince. At that the younger man even managed a smile of sorts.
"Of course not. The day I do that they may as well bury me", he said. Théodred smiled as well now and patted his shoulder.
"That is the spirit, cousin", he said warmly. When he continued, his tone was a bit more serious though, "Perhaps you should try and talk with the Steward tonight? Have some pleasant small talk with him? It wouldn't hurt you to get into better terms with the man."
"You know idle talk is not my strength", Éomer pointed out, "but I will try. I promise Lord Denethor will find no fault in my conduct."
He sighed, "This all comes so naturally to you, Théodred. I envy you."
His cousin smiled ruefully, "After all the years Father has tried to teach me about being a king, it would be a shame if nothing had stuck with me."
"Aye. Perhaps I could ask him to teach me too – if only to make it easier to deal with these Gondorian lords", mused the Marshal.
"It's never too late to start and learn", Théodred said gently. "But for the record, I think you're doing just fine. You needn't turn into a Gondorian, after all. If you did, they might kick you out of the Mark."
That made the younger man scoff and he tried to look unimpressed, but a smile fought its way on his face anyway.
"And I can't even tell who would be the most shocked", he chortled. Straightening his coat for one last time, Éomer cast a look at Théodred, "Are we ready to go?"
"That we are, cousin", said the Prince, and the two started for the banquet hall. But upon entering the Marshal froze, for his eyes fell on a familiar and an unwanted face. There at the other side was none other than Lord Galdegir, the shameless man who had assaulted Lothíriel; his hands became fists as he fought the urge to do something rash. Théodred had noticed something was wrong of course, and the older man looked at him in concern.
"What is it, Éomer?" he asked quietly.
"That man over there – the last time I was here, he'd have had his way with the Princess had I not happened upon them in the garden", he hissed through his teeth. "How can they let a man like him walk free? Or allow him so close to her?"
"You have to calm down. I told you we need to be on our best behaviour here", Théodred said quickly, but keeping his voice down too. "I'm sure you're right about him but we can't impose our own justice on high-born Gondorians."
"Then who will, if we won't do anything?" Éomer asked angrily.
"Let it go for now. I'll talk with the Steward about it", said the Prince.
"Fine. But if he dares to talk to me, I'm not going to be responsible for what I might do", grumbled the younger man and turned his eyes from the so called lord.
The gathering didn't take place in the great hall this time, which was obviously because the amount of guests was also smaller this time. Even so, Lord Denethor was not a man to act niggardly. The banquet consisted of seven courses and each dish was grander than the one before it, and there was even a small band of musicians playing songs through the dinner.
But there was one thing much fairer than all the others, and that was the Princess of Dol Amroth. The blue and silver of her gown went beautifully with her clear skin and dark hair, and he found it difficult not to stare at her. At times she'd glance at him too, and this sweet little smile would appear on her face. Seated beside her father she was too far for any conversation... but then, all necessary things were conveyed by those stolen glances. Looking at her there, he knew it'd be painful to return to Rohan without her.
The banquet came to an end eventually, and the guests moved to another hall to enjoy some drinks and light conversation. Éomer first thought of seeking the company of Lothíriel, but he decided to leave that for the later – not only because it was one thing he could expect to be pleasant, and that might be what he'd need once he had talked with the Steward.
Lord Denethor looked somewhat tired when the Marshal approached him. That was no wonder: the man had many concerns these days, and organising this banquet had probably only added to his burden. Suddenly, a sense of guilt came to the Rohir. The Steward had hoped to secure the alliance between their realms and this gathering was meant to celebrate it by the means of an engagement... yet that plan had proved in vain. In his own point of view, Denethor was not entirely wrong.
He pushed those thoughts out of his mind and bowed his head as a greeting.
"My lord Steward", he said, "I wanted to thank you for this evening, and for your hospitality for the last week."
"It was an honour. I should only ever wish that our friends from Rohan feel welcome here in our city", said the man smoothly.
"Of course", Éomer agreed. He fell silent then, considering to himself what he should tell this high lord. He'd have to choose his words carefully, that much was clear. He continued, "My lord, I'd have you know that I am very sorry for the unpleasant events of my last visit here in Minas Tirith. It wasn't my intention to cause trouble or offend yourself or the Prince Imrahil."
Lord Denethor turned to consider him sharply; what moved in his mind the young Marshal could not tell. He disliked having to humble himself so when one could hardly say he had done something wrong by these men, but he'd be damned if he let his pride get on the way of ensuring a better relationship with the Steward... and thus improving the chances of a marriage between him and his dear Princess. She was worth more than holding on to pride.
"I'm glad to hear that, Lord Marshal. Perhaps I spoke harshly as well, but you must understand I have to listen to the words of Prince Imrahil, and his daughter is my own kinswoman as well. She's young and naïve after all, and needs our protection", said Denethor.
There was much there Éomer would rather have liked to object to, but he kept his opinions to himself. Yet to himself he wondered if Lothíriel's relatives might ever see her clearly, not just as something fragile and in the need of such overbearing guard.
"I know you have only the best intentions in your mind, my lord", he said carefully. If he loathed something, it was not being able to speak out his mind, the way he was used to... but he had spent enough time in Gondor to understand here blunt words were not always the best approach, not when so much was at stake.
The Steward nodded and seemed satisfied.
"It is good to see we have an understanding. I would not leave ill feelings between ourselves, my lord", he said graciously. Then he went on to ask about some news of his home in Aldburg, and the conversation wasn't actually too unpleasant, though Éomer never really lowered his guard.
At last there was also a chance to seek the company of Lothíriel, and when he made his way to her she was conversing with an elderly but formidable looking lady. At the sight of him a smile came to her face and her eyes lit up. It took serious effort of will not to kiss her.
"My lord Marshal", she greeted him, "Here's Lady Menelwen, who is second cousin to my late mother. Lady, this is Marshal Éomer of Rohan, kinsman of Prince Théodred whom you already met."
"It's a great honour, my lord", said the lady and nodded towards the Rohir.
"Likewise, Lady", he answered. He had hoped to catch Lothíriel alone but that would probably have to wait for now. Maybe they could sneak out together if a moment arose.
"I seem to recall hearing that this is not your first time here in Minas Tirith, my lord?" asked the old lady.
"You remember correctly. I have been sent here before to aid Lord Denethor's sons on their war campaigns", he answered.
"But you weren't here with that purpose this time, Lord Marshal?" she inquired, watching him closely.
"No. The matter was of a diplomatic nature this time", Éomer answered. Suddenly, he felt a bit uneasy, and he wasn't sure where this conversation was going.
"I see", Lady Menelwen said, taking a sip of white wine from her glass. "I hope you don't mind my curiosity. It has been the talk of the city, you see. Rohirrim come here so rarely these days."
"It's a pity that our friendship has so diminished. I think we could learn a lot from each other, if we just strengthened our ties", Lothíriel put in. The older woman glanced at her thoughtfully.
"How do you propose this be achieved?" she asked. Her tone couldn't exactly be called sharp, but her glance was definitely so.
"Invite our Rohirric friends here more often, for one. My uncle at least has made good effort already when he has asked for riders", said the Princess smoothly. She continued, "My cousin Lord Boromir has nothing but praises for the Marshal and his men."
"Don't you think something more peaceable could be invented as well to strengthen these ties, like you said?" inquired Lady Menelwen.
"Prince Théodred my cousin spoke of establishing a more frequent trading relationship", Éomer commented.
"I hear that the Rohirric wool and leather are the best you can find in the free kingdoms", Lothíriel said then. She smiled, "Between the three of us, the moment I saw that green cloak of the Prince, I thought of stealing it. I don't think I've ever seen a garment so lovely."
"Knowing him, Lady Princess, he'd probably give it to you if you just asked", said the Rohir with a half-smile. Indeed, that was something Théodred would do. "On the other hand, I have a feeling all of our company would give you all cloaks you could ever hope for, and not even notice the cold for the happiness of bringing joy to a Princess."
Then Lothíriel asked of the making of Rohirric cloaks, and the conversation turned to directions that didn't dance around the unspoken matter of "political marriage". Captain Boromir joined them too and the Marshal even found he enjoyed himself – something he had not expected. But then she said she was feeling thirsty, and Éomer readily offered to go and fetch them drinks. She gave him a smile and he made his way through the crowd towards where the refreshments were being served.
He was halfway there when an unexpected and altogether unpleasant voice spoke from his right, and a hand on his arm had him halting.
"My lord Marshal. I have not yet had a chance to greet you", Lord Galdegir said, wearing a large charming smile. It instantly roused the Rohir's ire, but he reminded himself of what Théodred had said.
"And now you have greeted me, my lord. If you'd excuse me", he said sharply and tried to move away, but the hand on his arm turned into a grip and Éomer realised he couldn't really exit the scene without some violence.
"Now, my lord, what has made you so hateful? I know we did not begin in the best circumstances, but surely that is already forgotten?" Galdegir insisted, and his smile became – if possible – even larger.
"What do you want?" asked the Marshal bluntly.
"I was just thinking how lovely the Princess Lothíriel looks tonight. Blue and silver really do become her, don't you think? Makes her seem so pure and innocent, like a rose untarnished among the weeds..." said the irritating Gondorian and sighed dramatically. Éomer didn't even bother answering – he just glared at the man before him.
"But the looks can be so deceiving. She has fight in her, the kind her father doesn't even know she does. That's why she caught your eyes too, isn't it?" Galdegir continued, still smiling happily.
"Get to your point or get gone", Éomer hissed.
"There's no reason to be rude, Lord Marshal. But then, I suppose that is to be expected of you Rohirrim? Tell me, have you already taken her, the way you people do up in north? For a tender little princess it must have been quite a wild thing, having a ruthless barbarian bed her... but then, I suppose there's enough of spirit her to like that sort of thing!" Galdegir said and chuckled. The Rohir now stood frozen, but his blood was boiling and all he wanted was to feed this disgusting man to wargs... Théodred's words were starting to get dim now, and fury took their place. How dare this swine speak thusly of her!
But Galdegir was not quite done yet. With a smirk, he continued: "Don't worry, though. I'll have her, even if she's damaged goods. I don't mind a horselord's wench. She'll know I'm her only chance of an honourable marriage anyway, if she wants to avoid disgrace. She's a princess, after all, and as a son-in-law to Prince Imrahil one should never want for anything. I'll even beat that wildness out of her!"
That did it. There in the middle of the high lords and ladies of Gondor, Éomer snapped: without one thought he flung his arm towards the face of Galdegir, and there was a sickening crunch when his knuckles came to contact with the man's nose. And as this so called lord fell back on the floor with a cry of pain, a gasp rose in the crowd, but the Marshal was beyond caring. He'd have leapt on the man and Béma knew what would have happened then, but then arms grabbed him from behind, and Théodred and Boromir held him back.
"Let me go! I'll kill him!" he snarled in Rohirric to his cousin, but Théodred's grip was tight.
"Calm down, cousin!" he answered, and the words came as a sharp order.
That was when Lord Steward came striding to the scene. The look on his face was furious and helped Éomer to sober up, though the two men still held him by his arms.
"What is this supposed to be? By what right do you attack my guests, Marshal?!" Denethor demanded angrily.
"This man here spoke disgracefully of the Princess of Dol Amroth. I have no patience for listening to anyone desecrate a lady of her standing!" Éomer snapped and met the Steward's glare with an equally furious gaze. For all he had been forced to temper himself in this court, this was not something he'd agree to compromise about!
"Nothing warrants you using violence here in my court, horselord!" Denethor said angrily and glanced at Galdegir, who still sat on the floor and was pressing a handkerchief against his bloodied nose. The Steward said, "We are not going to clear out this here. Get up, Lord Galdegir."
By the time they followed the Steward to a side chamber, Éomer's fury was already turning into cold doubt. Though Galdegir's face was mostly hidden behind the handkerchief, there was a glint in his eyes the Marshal did not like at all. Suddenly he understood: this was precisely what the accursed man had wanted. Galdegir had known he was hot-tempered and would not suffer hearing the Princess so disgraced, not even before the eyes of Lord Denethor himself.
An act of furious violence had been precisely what he had wanted.
The Steward halted once they were in the chamber – Théodred and Boromir had come as well – and turned his sharp grey eyes towards the Prince.
"I do not think I invited you to come along, my lord", he said bluntly. Théodred's expression remained calm and collected.
"You did not, Lord Steward. But as a cousin to the Marshal and the highest Rohirric authority present, I do believe I have every right to be here", he said steadily; how he managed that kind of composure, Éomer didn't know. Just a slightest frown revealed the Steward's displeasure but he made no further attempt of having the Prince leave the scene. He turned towards the two parties of the quarrel then.
"I would like to hear what precisely initiated that little outburst, my lords", he said. He too had assumed a calmer tone.
"This lord here made some offensive comments about the Princess of Dol Amroth. I could not suffer anyone disgracing her so", answered the Rohir tightly.
"I was told the Rohirrim have a very earthy sense of humour. I was just trying to jest with the Marshal", Galdegir said. His nose had stopped bleeding and his expression was of perfect innocence.
"My lord, what you said to me could only be regarded humorous in orcish standards!" Éomer snapped, his anger threatening to rise anew, even if he knew what had been the purpose of that scene. He looked at the Steward and forced himself to speak calmer, "Lord Steward, surely you don't approve of anyone, no matter how high is their birth, speaking uncouth and obscene words of your kinswoman?"
"And what did he tell you precisely?" Lord Denethor asked.
"He made implications about myself and the honour of the Princess. And he appears to think it is proper to reduce people, especially a high-born lady as her, to the level of goods of trade", said the Marshal, bristling even as he spoke those words. It was true he had shared with her something only wedded couples shared (in Gondorian mind at least), but it had been because he loved her and wanted to spend his life with her... what Galdegir had spoken of was another thing entirely, like he was a man to first seduce a woman and make her false promises, use her until he got bored, and then toss her away just like that.
"Well, I was under the impression that this Rohirric attendance in the city meant the Princess was to be engaged to one of these gentlemen – to the Marshal here even, as he has been among us before... so I didn't believe it would be so insulting to speak of her as his own already", said the damned lord. He patted his nose and even conjured an impressive look of being miserable. "I'm most sorry for my poor conduct. I did not mean offence."
"You lie!" Éomer growled. "Your only purpose was to speak rudely of the Princess on the front of me, because you explicitly wanted to cause a scene!"
"Why would I want that?" asked Galdegir innocently. The Marshal opened his mouth to answer, but he realised how it would sound if he did insist on pursuing his accusation of foul play. The chances were he'd put Lothíriel under suspicion... and that this loathsome man wasn't so wrong to question her virtue.
They wouldn't care if she loved Éomer and vice versa. The only thing they would see was a wild northerner using the gullible little princess for his own pleasure.
"This is quite enough", Théodred said then, his voice firm and authoritative. "Obviously the Lord Galdegir overstepped some lines, and my cousin did not quite have tolerance for his brand of humour. We Rohirrim have great respect for women, our own and foreign, so even a hint of dishonour is not treated well among us."
"Very well", said Lord Denethor. He glanced at Galdegir then, "I hope I'm not wrong in assuming that you will forget this unfortunate event by the comfort of an apology?"
The young lord smiled brightly.
"You're most correct in that, Lord Steward", he affirmed. The Steward turned towards Éomer then, giving him an expectant look.
However, the Marshal was again on the brink of outrage. So he was supposed not only to listen to the filth this man spewed and let it go unnoticed, but also to apologise?! No, he wasn't going to let Galdegir humiliate him so!
And so he stood straight and tall, lifting his chin in a challenge.
"Once I let this man go after he had assaulted the Princess of Dol Amroth. I'm not making that mistake again. And I am not going to apologise for treating him the scum he is", he said in strong, cold voice. He turned his glare towards Galdegir, "And if you, my lord, have even resemblance of backbone, will have to accept my challenge for a single combat."
A/N: Mwahahahah. I did say we haven't seen the last of Galdegir, didn't I?
Knowing of Éomer's hot temper and his quite obvious adoration of Lothíriel, it's not really hard for Galdegir to set up this situation. As Éomer understands just after the scene, it is precisely to cast him in bad light in the eyes of Denethor. Add to that Wormtongue's lies and it's pretty difficult for Éomer to untangle the web he has been caught in. And it's even more frustrating because Imrahil is showing signs of starting to understand maybe he has made the wrong judgements.
Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and thanks for reviews!
Le Pleiade - Well, I should think both Éomer and Lothíriel are too stubborn to just give up like that, even if fighting back also means being miserable. As for Théodred, he certainly respects her but I don't think he'd feel she's his type.
Sandy-wmd - Oh, it certainly is true for writing as well. It's difficult to focus on one thing when the other keeps distracting you.
Also thanks for the compliment! I'm really happy and flattered to hear that you think so. :)
Kiiimberly - Perhaps his stubborness is starting to wear thin now. :)
Borys68 - Oh, I see. I suppose I understood you wrong then. And yes, Imrahil would probably take it rather heavily if he learned the truth.
I'm going for the book canon portrayal of Théodred here, so he's the 40-something version here.
annafan - Thanks for your comments! Glad to hear you've enjoyed the story. :) Also you're probably right about Imrahil's aversion to the potential marriage of Éomer and Lothíriel.
Talia119 - If he hasn't realised that before, I'm thinking he's starting to understand now. And nope, Théodred is not going to stand as a rival to his cousin - that already happened in House of Sun so I don't really want to go the same route again.