All characters of LOTR are copyright of J.R.R. Tolkien and Tolkien Enterprise. Unless otherwise stated, most personality and physical appearance are based on both Tolkien and Sir Peter Jackson's Lord of The Ring Trilogy.

To be wearing plain dimity and fustian in a room full of satin, velvet and diamonds takes an effort of will = means to be among those higher status (either wealth, fame or reputation) that you takes a great courage; or an insult that you are sticking yourself in a group that you do not deserve to belong.

Writ of Shadows and Phantoms

Chapter 8: of Boards and Ales

1st May 3019 T.A.

It came the greatest day of Third Age. All things were now made ready in the City. Tables were laid with breads, butter, selection of red cheese, dishes of chicken, ducks, boars and beef, salted meats, roasted vegetables of various kinds and crunchy dried fruits. And of course, a good fest always had to come with fine wines, stouts and ales.

There was great concourse of people. News had travelled to all parts of Gondor. Most that managed to come to the City within a few days. Women and children were seen everywhere. They returned to their home laden with flowers. The most gifted the harpers of Dol Amroth also came. They were known to harp most skilfully in all the land. Musicians were on their viols, flutes and silver horns accompanied by the clear-voiced Lebennin singers.

The men of Lord Húrin laid a barrier across the entrance. The soldiers were clad in silver and black and long swords were drawn. Faramir, Húrin and other Gondor captains, Éowyn, Elfhelm and the Riders of Rohan stood before the barrier. Both sides of the Gate were pressed with people and garlands of flowers. Finally, Gondor had a king. The standard of the King unfurled and flew proudly in the air.

In the days that followed his crowning King Elessar pronounced his judgements on his throne in the Hall of the King. Many were brought before him to receive his praise and reward for their valour. It was not until the last moment that Imrahil brought his children before his king. There were muttering among the audience. Many did not seem to recognise Imrahil's daughter but shared the conclusion that she definitely looked familiar.

"King Elessar, I hereby, introduce my youngest child, Lothíriel of Dol Amroth," Imrahil led his daughter to face the King. She kneeled before and greeted him.

"Please rise, my child. Lord Imrahil, little have you spoke of your precious daughter!" The King cried and laughed. The young woman before him rose.

"Lady Lothíriel has very kindly offered her service to assist me in household matters, King Elessar," Lord Húrin stepped forward to praise the young woman's effort.

"There was only little I could offer, my lords." She bowed to both older men partly to avoid the eyes directing onto her from all corners and also to shield herself away from the penetrating glare, that could burn through her flesh, from the side of the King. She noticed his presence the moment she entered the Hall of Kings. That unmistakenly huge and tall physique that towered most people around was difficult to miss.

Éomer was standing with the crowd next to Aragorn when Imrahil approached with his children. He nodded to Imrahil and his sons to acknowledge their presence but then when his fourth child came into his sight, it was something he least expected. The dirt and grime were gone from her face. The porcelain complexion was not something he could relate to an untamed woman who went barking outside his tent. Moreover, she was Imrahil's daughter! An insufferable woman whom he tried to kill twice and her father was his friend, comrade.

Imrahil took his daughter's hand and turned to the group next to his king.

" Lothíriel, these are my friends and my brothers-in-arm!" Imrahil was overjoyed to introduce his daughter to the men whom he fought together with. His daughter, however, was trying to keep a discrete presence, appearing humble along each introduction until they came before Éomer.

"This is the man I always talk about, Lothíriel! The valiant and fierce warrior from Rohan – King Éomer!" Imrahil embraced his friend, excited to see each other again. "I believe you both have not met." Imrahil continued. Lothíriel just wished his father could let her go at this very right moment. She lowered her head enough to completely hide herself from his sight.

"There are others who fought bravely too, Lord Imrahil," Éomer bowed briefly at his friend's compliment. "So, she is your daughter." He said with a raised eyebrow. "To your surprise, my lord, your daughter and I have, indeed, met. How is your foot, Lady Lothíriel?"

Fuelled by the mocking tone in his voice, she raised her head to meet him bravely eyes to eyes. She felt herself gritting her teeth beneath her calm mask. "Yes, of course, we have. And my foot is fine. I can walk unaided now. I truly appreciate your concern, my lord." Each word was forced out from her teeth. She somehow did not understand the need to mention her foot in front of her father and brothers and all others that were present. "Father, Lord Éomer was very kind to offer his assistance when I strained my foot." Whilst trying hard not to burst her own lie, she kept her hard stare on the blonde

"I did not know you and King Éomer were acquainted, Daughter! Then, you are no strangers!" Said Imrahil in a fruity tone.

"Indeed," replied the young king. He was clearly aware of the fomenting tension between the young woman and him.

And, she was pretty certain he was enjoying every second of it. After taking a few deep breaths to regain her equanimity, she said in her most polite tone, "Father, my lords, if you could please excuse me." She bowed and quickly took her leave for she could not stand that man any longer. She made for the entrance, getting herself a glass of wine on the way, and found a rather empty corner just next to the large doors. Sipping the wine slowly, she let out a heavy sigh.

"What is a beautiful lady like you doing here, Lady Lothíriel? You should be inside celebrating it with your father." A melodious voice came from behind.

"Lord Legolas," she bowed at the fair elf, trying to find an explanation for her escape. "The chattering is not everyone's cup of tea."

"My lady, do not let the history curtain and blind your mind. Your future is bright." He said suddenly out of context of the current conversation, looking at the sky.

"I have no cue of your words, Master Elf." She rapidly declined to comprehend his words.

"There will be one day that you will have to unfold it and tie the loose ends." He turned back to her. "I wish you joy and happiness." Then the elf left, leaving her to her own thoughts. Some happy cheering was then drawing her attention. Sighing heavily again, she thought she had sighed too much lately, maybe she should enjoy the celebration. What worst could have come after the Dark Lord had been defeated! She made her way around the guests and came to discover the origin of the cheering. She saw the little figures cast in bronze on the iron board. They were playing chess. The older Swan Knight did not have much luck against the young Rohirrim soldider.

"Alas, my lady, it seems luck has gone from me. I have not won for three times in a row! Three pints down the throat!" the old knight laughed sheepishly as Lothíriel leaned forward and took a closer look.

"Nah, my lord, there is a chance that you might still win," she smiled back at him. "Maybe I could be of some help here. So the loser takes a pint? I hope you don't mind, Lord Éothain." She turned to the young Rohirrim and gestured at the chess board.

"Lady Lothíriel! Of course! No good man should decline a good lady's company but be warned that the best trained me!" Éothain exclaimed heartily and winked at her.

She grinned at him and took the seat opposite him. The cheering came louder behind her back as the Swan Knights had gathered around them. Lothíriel made a few moves and Éothain followed accordingly to win but soon he found the pawn was there! Right in front of him!

He scratched his head and drew a silly smile on his young face, "And pawn. When it comes to pawns, I am all lost!"

She snickered with full certainty of winning, "Oh Valar! You must the shame of the cavalry!"

He chuckled at her remark and laughed his heart out, seemingly not offended by it, "I have always been a laughing stock, my lady!"

"What do your superiors do with you?" She made another move and he did not stand of chance at beating her.

"They just choose to ignore me, mostly, most of the time! And, my lady, you are impossible!" He scratched his head again, pointing his finger at her, not believing that he had just completely lost to a woman.

"I see you are against the finest of Dol Amroth," Amrothos' voice came from behind. He tapped his hand on Éothain's shoulder and smiled at him, "I must say you do not have a chance of winning at all, Horsemaster!" Éothain and he had become good friends on the journey to Black Gate, not only because they shared many in common of their characters – being always cheerful and could even laugh at the very worst moments in life. They soon became close and spent most of the time, sharing jokes and stories of their lives.

"A loser does what a loser does!" Éothain lifted a mug and gulped it empty. More cheering rang across the hall as soon as he finished the pint.

"Éothain, you should watch your steps and your pint." A deep voice rang behind them. Lothíriel would not have forgotten that voice, how could she forget the owner of that voice, whom beyond her understanding, tried to kill her twice and burst her cover in front of her father.

All turned around to find Éomer, either grinning or smiling, eyeing down at the board set.

"Lord Éomer!" Éothain let out another cheerful laugh. He smirked sheepishly and turned to Lothíriel, "My lady, perhaps, you could try to win my mentor."

Her eyes followed as he made his way to them. She slowly moved her fingers on the board, rearranging the pieces, her cast lifted from the board and she stared right into his greenish amber eyes, "Perhaps, win is a bad choice of word. How about beat? After all I have little intention of winning your king. Three rounds and two pints for each round lost. What say you?"

The King of Rohan raised his eyebrow at the challenge. The crowd cheered again to encourage their king.

"I will be honoured to regain the lost reputation." He threw his men a look then sat in front of her.

"Aye!" His men cheered again behind him.

Hence, the match began. Things were in Lothíriel's favour until the Horselord made unexpected move. It was not in her calculation that he would have gone that way. And it all went ill from that point onwards and she found herself in a very vulnerable position. She had lost to the King of Rohan.

"Well played, my lord. So, a loser does what a loser does!" Repeating Éothain's words, she gestured to one of the ale-serving servants and retrieved two mugs from the serving plate and placed them in front of her. His eyes watched her carefully. She sniffed the first pint with briefly closed eyes. Appeared to be indulged in the aroma of the ale, she said, "Minas Tirith brews good ale." With that she raised the mug in front of his eyes, "To Rohan!" She titled her head backwards and in a slow motion drained the first mug down her throat.

Éomer showed no reaction to her craze. She wiped the corner of her mouth with her sleeve and aimed for the second mug but Amrothos pressed it down with his hand and cast a warning look at her. "Lothíriel, I think that is enough."

"No, Amrothos. You live up to your sword and I live up to my words. Besides, two pints is not enough to bring me down. And these might be the only two pints I have to drink!"Looking at her brother, she pushed his hand away rudely. Then she glared at the blonde man in front of her, lifting the second mug, her eyes never left him. "To Gondor!" She brought the second pint close to her mouth and gulped it. Once it was empty, she turned the ivory mug upside down and grinned, "Empty to the last drop." She bowed. She did not appear to be tipsy or sober. Just a tint of pink shade on her cheeks that betrayed she had drank.

"Aye!" The crowd cheered at the dark-haired woman. Many soldiers, young and old, had gathered around them to share the fun. They too, drank among each other, chatting happily.

"Well played." Éomer said as a matter of fact, while repositioning the pieces to start a few match. He was able to conceal the astonishment that the woman in front of him had brought upon him.

"Thank you, if that was meant to be a compliment." She sat down again in front of him. She was almost certain that she smelled sarcasm in his words.

The second round began. The tension on the board was shifting from one end to the other. The crowd watched with great enthusiasm, following the fingers and the pieces carefully. Some of them were bewildered with mouth opened. Other simply forgot that they had some ales in their hands at all. Every step on the board was rewarded with constant cheering. Éomer scrunched his brows and the corner of his lips twined, his chin resting on his left hand. This woman managed to corner him and lock him from all directions. He was outmatched. He had only ever lost to his uncle and his cousin. He rolled his eyes in disbelief. Letting out an angry snort, he waved down a servant and grabbed two mugs. She smiled as she observed him. Her lips curled up faintly. She could not help the sense of victorious power growing inside her.

"For Valar's sake, Lothíriel! You've won!" Amrothos exclaimed, jumping like a small child. The Swan Knights who joined the crowd, rejoiced their lady's victory. They all raised their mugs and drank merrily.

"Rohan breeds courageous men," she said, returning the same sarcastic tone he cast on her before. Moreover, she was still very unhappy about his mention of her foot in front of her father.

"To the victorious!" He raised the mug and emptied one after another easily. He could see the amusement twinkled in her eyes. There was no mistake that she was mocking him with her compliment. She was the most disagreeable human he had ever met. He never liked defeat in any form. Now to be outmatched by her simply boiled his blood.

"Shall we?" She asked softly. Her voice was still flooded with joy.

"Of course, my lady," he sat down again, trying to formulate a strategy in his mind not to lose again. Their final match caught more attention. The company of Aragorn, Arwen, Legolas, Imrahil, Elphir, Erchirion, Éowyn and Faramir observed them from a distance, save Gimli who found ale more interesting than board game.

"Lord Imrahil, your daughter is impressive. It looks like she is giving my brother a hard time!" Aragorn laughed as he watched the crowd howled in excitement while the final match continued.

"My king, modesty is not Lothíriel's best virtue. She spares no man, I am afraid." He was for a moment concerned with the rivalry between his daughter and the young king he sensed when they were introduced just now. He was relieved for a moment. There was no need to create any tension between Gondor and Rohan. Or maybe he was relieved too soon.

Lothíriel soon grew reckless. She had not anticipated Éomer would have taken the risk and able to turn the table. She was leading the match before and was winning. But her over-confidence blinded her. She failed to see his tactic to bait her and she foolishly raised and fell for it. She gritted her teeth whilst more of his pieces advanced to hers, removing more and more of hers on the way. And she was surrounded. The Rohirrims cheered loudly for their leader.

Punching the table lightly, she flagged down a servant and took another two mugs. Her cheeks reddened more with the anger of defeat. She let out a sigh of disapproval.

"Dol Amroth breeds extraordinary women." Éomer rose and clapped at the brother and sister. It was a close match. Her tactic was not easy to derive but her eager to beat him was all written on her facial expression. It was not difficult to read her face and it did not take long to learn what her next moves would be.

She eyed him with a measuring look. Her eyes narrowed. She did not seem to take compliments in any form very well. Amrothos was in total shock and by the time he realised Lothíriel had lost the game, it was too late. She had finished the first mug.

"You lost." Amrothos muttered to himself, looking very disappointed.

"Thanks, Amrothos! I don't need reminding." She snapped at him breathlessly partly because she was angry with herself, for being overconfidence and for underestimating her opponent and partly because of the mocking compliment. But still she had her reputation to live up to. And, at least there was no excuse not to drink. She raised the second mug to her mouth, "To Lord of Rohan!" She took her time to drain the ale. The pumping motion danced along and down her fair neck. "Empty." She turned the mug bottom up. Éomer stood up to acknowledge the courage of the woman in front of him simply by a nod.

"Impressive!" A loud applaud came from the entrance. All heads turned to the source of that praise. There stood a man dressed in a noble fashion with jewellery of glittering golf and silver on him. Lothíriel did not bother to turn or look. She knew that voice well. So well that she could remember it for the rest of her life even if she became deaf.

Just a few steps away stood her two elder brothers. Elphir made the intention to rush to their sister but Erchirion stopped him, "We cannot protect her forever, Elphir. She will have to learn to stand for herself."

"Erchirion, if your brain is still in working order, the last time when she stood her ground, it did not turn out as good as expected." Elphir turned around and said to his younger brother.

"Brother, have some faith in our sister. She can do better than you think!" Erchirion insisted.

While all standing around the board table, Éomer immediately saw her jaw muscles buckled up and her eyes narrowed. Every air and breath around her was radiating with intense anger. He came to stood next to her and saw the nobleman coming to their direction.

"Good day to you, my lady, my lord," the noble seemed extremely polite.

Lothíriel turned herself slightly only to glimpse the noble over her shoulder. She said no words but only nodded.

"To be wearing plain dimity and fustian in a room full of satin, velvet and diamonds takes an effort of will, doesn't it, my lady?" The nobleman laughed contemptuously. She knew of the ironic truth he spoke of. "I must talk to your father and King Elessar. Enjoy the evening, my lady." He bowed with a smirk on his face and headed towards the king.

Éomer threw Lothíriel a quick look. She seemed surprisingly calm to most but the small act of biting her lip did not escape his eyes. Then another man in front of him and bowed. A man perhaps of similar age as him. Dressed in shiny silk, tidy and shaved, too clean to be among those that clad in armour. Another nobleman. He did not recall knowing this man.

"Lady Lothíriel, it is nice to finally see you again." The man directed his greeting to the dark-haired woman standing next to him. Now she eyed the man in silk with disgust.

"You should go and join your father." She responded with icy tone.

"The music is starting, perhaps I could have the honour to dance with you, my lady?" He instead preferred to continue annoying her.

All the eyes surrounding them seemed to fix her, waiting for her to speak. It was very impolite to decline a man's invite to a dance so she was taught. But there was no way on the Middle-earth that she would agree to dance with this young nobleman for he was his son. She had just been insulted by his father and now he asked her for a dance? There was iron certainty that this man carried no intelligence in his brain.

She saw the harpers were in position. She had to dig a way of out this and many underestimated her capability. She always did the least expected. She could not help but lit a sardonic smile on her face when she turned to face the young nobleman, "Thank you, my lord." Just when he reached his hand out to take hers, she quickly turned away to face the Rohirrim standing next to her, leaving the young noble looking awkwardly embarrassed with his hand stuck in mid air.

"Do you dance, Lord Éomer?" Raising her eyebrow, she stretched her hand out toward him. And of course, all the eyes now shifted on him. Éothain looked at him with great enthusiasm.

"Not if I can help it." He replied calmly and bowed to her, and she spread her dress and bowed back. Some whistles came from his Riders behind him. This youngest child of Imrahil was truly an eye-opener. Fetish and intrepid.

The soothing waves of tunes started to fill the hall. Éomer took her hand and led her to the floor. Many still looked at them in great shock and wonder and murmured between themselves, including her brothers and his sister.

"Is that Lothíriel with the King of Rohan?" Erchirion pulled the sleeve of his eldest brother, not believing his eyes.

"It is indeed." Elphir snorted.

"Maybe Lady Lothíriel and my brother have finally come to the same agreement." Éowyn whispered to Faramir.

"Maybe it is not such a bad thing, my lady."The Prince of Ithilien replied, smiling.

Whilst some were busy muttering among themselves about the dramatic scene she had just created, Lothíriel was not entirely relaxed with her steps. Her movement was stiffer than usual and she had not spoken any words since they began dancing.

"Do you prefer to stay deadly quiet, while dancing, my lady?" His deep voice rang from above.

"Yes, my lord. Under most circumstances, I have strong preference to be unsociable and taciturn. From my previous exxperience it has proved to be so much more enjoyable, don't you agree?" She titled her head up and stared sharply at him.

"Of course. Even if one's partner is barely tolerable." He replied.

Her brows drew closer hearing his reply. She clenched her teeth. She was stupid to dig a hole and jump into it herself. She tore her eyes off him and fixed them on his broad shoulder on which she rested her hand upon. She could not help but notice that he was wearing green cape with thick and detailed embroidery of gold and silver, clasped with the brooch of silver horsehead on his reddish brown armour. A sense of guilt ran through her briefly. He was the King of Rohan. What on the Middle-earth had she done to drag him into this mess today? She must have lost her mind.

The earthy scent of grass radiated from him and whirled around her as they danced. On the other hand, fuelled by her anger moment ago, her breaths, unlike most perfumed women, were mellow of wine and beer. Her scent filled his nostrils as they made another turn.

"You drank too much." He said in a low tone as he extended his arm behind her back and brought her closer.

"It is not for you to judge, my lord. Unlike women, some men are far too easy to make judgement." She hissed back whilst following his lead.

"How so?" He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Humorless horseheathers, in my rather limited experience." She looked at him with a confident smile then eyed at the young nobleman standing at the corner, whom she just ridiculed moments ago.

"One of these days, my lady, you will have to really watch your capable tongue." He warned her.

"That day is yet to come, Lord Éomer. Many are in uncertainties." She replied in a rather happy and lively tone. Her movement was more fluid now and her mood seemed better.

"Perhaps, it must be pretty certain and worth mentioning that Prince Imrahil is your father, Princess." He said dryly.

"Was." She refused to look at him entirely, turning her glance back to his shoulders. "I was Princess. But this does not matter anymore." Her steps halted very briefly, so short for most audience to notice. She cursed in a low tone not enough for him to catch what she was saying. Then he felt her grip of his hand abruptly tautened. Her back tensed and her muscles flinched. He whirled around and soon understood. He saw the father of the noble young man was standing with his son among the close crowd observing them. Everywhere they moved, the father and son pair went closer.

His arm around her slender waist tightened, drawing them closer to each other. He bent his head only low enough to whisper in her ears, "Easy."

His breath was blowing on her face and down to her neck. She was not a woman of small build after all some blood of Numenor flew within her. But being so close to him made her undersized. His strength illuminating from his pure physique was overpowering. Somehow part of her relaxed when he whispered to reassure her. Gazing back at him in wonder, she beamed at him as they floated and swirled on the floor with the fluttering and majestic tunes continued to ring from harps, flutes and viols, under the fingers of the talented musicians.

TBC