Review acknowledgement!
Sic Vita Est: Thank you so much for following my story until now. Yes, she goes to Rohan but not in Edoras yet!
b5delenn: I will make sure they have some fun getting along! Glavror is a just abnormal like his family.
AHealingRenaissance: The danger will shake Dol Amroth soon :)
Volenska: Éothain is fun! I am trying to include some 'screentime' for him!
Shy: Thank you! I hope you will like this chapter too!
Rogue's Queen: Hope this chapter will not disappoint you!
To all other anon readers: Thank you and enjoy the story :)
Writ of Shadows and Phantoms
Chapter 13: of Stews and Riddles
Imrahil's Camp.
21st July 3019 T.A.
Leaning down and laying his hand on the boy's shoulder, Imrahil brought himself to level with the young boy in front of him.
"Tell me again, Hannor. What happened?"
Surveying his surrounding, the orphan appeared frightened by the huge number of knights standing in Imrahil's tent. Imrahil's eldest, Elphir, could not hide his suspicion when he looked at the young boy.
Reading the boy's thought, he smiled. "Nobody is going to hurt you, I promised. I am Lady Lothíriel's father. Just tell me what happened after she spoke to you yesterday morning."
"I went back to the orphanage to pack my clothes. And, when I was going up the gate to meet Lady Lothíriel, a man came to talk to me." Hannor answered timidly, fear still had not subsides from his eyes.
"Was he a plump man, with shiny hair so sleek that when a fly lands, it will slip?" Imrahil smiled at the boy, making gesture of a fly falling from his head. Adding a little humour might help to ease the child's fear.
"Yes, his hair looked like he had washed it in a barrel of oil."
"What did he say to you?"
"He asked if Lady Lothíriel was my friend and I said yes. He told me that he was a friend of hers too and he said he could not find her and asked if I knew where she was."
"What did you say, Hannor?"
"I told him I did not know."
"Did he say anything else?"
"He asked if we were going somewhere."
This was going better than Imrahil thought. Trying to get a frightened child to speak was never easy. He did not believe when his guards reported the sighting of Glavror talking to Hannor that Hannor would have said something he did not know.
"Tell me every word that he said."
"He said, 'You are leaving, aren't you? Do you know where you are going?'"
"Hmmm," These words made Imrahil frowned further. He was trying to formulate the whole incident.
"Am I in trouble, my lord? I did not know where we were going, so I told him I don't know..."
The worried look on Hannor's faced stung Imrahil a little. Had he been too hard on the child? He held him by his small shoulders and softened his tone further. "No, my child. Nobody is in any trouble. You have done well."
"Is Lady Lothíriel angry with me?"
"No, she is not angry with you, silly. She is more than happy to have you by her side. Listen, Hannor. Lady Lothíriel is very precious to me, like you are to her. I want you to stay close to her when you are in Rohan. Tell Lord Éomer if you find anything or anyone strange around her. Can you do that for me, Hannor?" Taking the boy's hands in his, Imrahil asked, staring into those innocent eyes.
"Yes, my lord. I promise."
"That is very good. Thank you, Hannor."
Imrahil signalled and ordered one of his guards to escort the boy back to the orphanage.
"Father, do you think that child told the truth?" Elphir asked as soon as Hannor left the tent.
"There are no lies in his eyes, Elphir."
"Did he tell Glavror then?"
"No. It was not him." Touching his chin with his hand, Imrahil peered across his spacious tent. His face was masked by a thoughtful scowled expression. "Someone used the poor kid as a scapegoat, hoping we would fall for it, putting the blame on him."
"How can you tell?"
"Approaching Hannor in broad daylight and allowing himself to be sighted by our guards were his tricks. If you heard the boy correctly, Elphir, Glavror actually said 'You are leaving, aren't you?' So, he knew your sister was planning to leave Minas Tirith before he spoke to Hannor. Someone told him. Someone that we have overlooked."
"Who do you think that might be, Father?"
"I cannot be certain, Elphir. We can only wait and see." His eyes narrowed.
Same day.
Éomer's camp.
Éomer swiped away the sweat from his forehead as he handed the reins of Firefoot to one of his Royal Guards. He went out for a quick ride with his steed. He needed a break to recover the disquiet for the past few days. Still catching his breaths, he pushed the sleeves of his tent and was surprised to find someone standing next in front of the tapestries [1], both elegant hands wrapped behind his back, studying the details on the fabric minutely. When Éomer entered his tent, the uninvited guest turned his head and smiled in greeting.
"Rohan's tapestries are impressive." He remarked.
Peeling off his black leather gloves and placing them on the table with his helm, Éomer said without giving attention to his guest, "I would have expected more manner from you, Elphir, son of Imrahil."
"I told your guards that I came bearing the news from my father. He let me in." Elphir showed his signature smile. Like his other brothers, he inherited much of his father's features. Tall and fair with mesmerising grey eyes.
Elphir surveyed the blond man in front of him with great weight. Tangled unmanageable hair with the front locks tied in a half pony tail, untrimmed his beard running along his jaw line from ear to ear and grimed sun-tanned skin – all the features of a rough unkempt warrior. Éomer's ability to remain immaculately groomed yet still radiate a prominent aura of authority by just a single twitch of his eyes and brows, was always something he found amusing.
"Good to know you have found something to keep yourself occupied all this time." Éomer's tone was either friendly nor upset. He leaned forward to reach for a ceramic pitcher. Pouring himself some water, hands on the table supporting his weight, he eyes never left Imrahil's offspring as he sipped down the water.
Elphir's lips curved into an amused smile. "How did the ride go?"
Lowering the mug, wiping his mouth dry with the back of his hand, Éomer shrugged and replied without giving much thought. "As usual. There is not much to see in Minas Tirith." Like his riders, he preferred green plains.
"Perhaps, one day, you should come to Dol Amroth. I am sure you would find the sea interesting."
"One day, perhaps." Placing the cast iron mug aside on the table, Éomer rose to his height. "What do you want, Elphir?" He probed. He knew Elphir did not come to see him bearing news from Imrahil.
Éomer was friendlier when he spoke his father, Elphir chuckled lightly. He continued to examine the blond man. At his full height in his heavy reddish-brown silver-tarnished armour, a valiant warchief, Éomer always appeared intimidating to those around him. Elphir could understand why the maids in Minas Tirith had been talking and would squall when the Horselord was present. Some women found dangerous men mysterious and attractive.
"I come here to talk about my sister."
Éomer's brows rose slightly, his eyes glinted.
"I have discussed it thoroughly with your father. Rohan welcomes a diplomat from Gondor. There is no more that I can add."
"As far as I understand, you agreed to my father's request under one condition."
Appeared to be not listening, Éomer grabbed some grapes from the fruit basket and took his time to chew the fruits thoroughly. His remarkable restraint with table manner brought further amusement to Elphir. This rugged-looking man was also brought up with strict etiquette.
"That condition was discussed and your father consented to it." Éomer said with strong reservation in his voice, without looking at Elphir. He did not wish to dwell on this subject.
"Lord Éomer, I just want to say that do not undervalue my sister. She is a very capable woman. There will be times that you will find her a very beneficial asset to Rohan."
His straight eyebrow arched. "We will see."
"One last thing," Elphir stepped closer to the Horselord and said in a tone only audible to Éomer, "I love her as much as you love your sister. So, please, keep her safe."
Éomer threw him a quick look. He was a brother too, he easily derived Elphir's last three words – a warning that harm would come to Lothíriel and Elphir expected him to take necessary precautions.
"That has been taken into consideration. I promise your father that I will see to it personally." He reassured him.
"Thank you, my lord. Have a good day." Grinning, Elphir bowed and left. He was over the moon, not only because he was reassured that his sister would be safe but also she had just found herself a match who was equally strong in character as her. The more he learnt about that man, the more he admired him. That one condition should not matter if the time came ripe at the end.
Post 22nd July 3019 T.A.
The journey to Edoras was slow. King Théoden was laid in a banner-draped wooden casket that Éomer brought from Edoras. It was constructed with the best craftsmanship in Rohan with craving of horses and decorated with gold paint along the seams. The casket and the king's procession were secured on a shaded cart. There were eight horses pulling the cart. The Royal Guards all rode along their fallen king, four in front, three on each side, and the rest behind. Many had followed to honour the last journey of the King of Rohan. Éomer led the host with Gamling and Elfhelm beside him.
It was a three-hundred-and-fifty mile[2] trip with frequent breaks in a day. The dwellers in Anorien paid their last respect to the fallen king by laying flowers along the Great West Road. They also came to offer food and drinks to the company. Many sang when the host went passed. The weather was kind to the host. The air stayed breezy day and night. The sun was hot but not unbearable.
The evening drew closer as the sun began to close its curtain. The party went passed Drúadan Forest and Nardol and was getting close to Erelas. Gamling called out for his king a few times but he did not seem to hear him. Dwelling in the pool of remembrance, Éomer continued abstractedly with his left hand holding the reins and his right hand a spear. Even though the Dark Lord had been defeated and destroyed, the evil that he bred still wandered on Middle-earth. Éomer took no chance. Encouraged by the slight freedom from its master, Firefoot was moving at a speed greater than the rest of the party. Gamling loped forward his mount to catch up the pace of his king.
"Lord Éomer?"
"Sorry, Gamling. I did not hear you." Realising that he was lost in his thought, he turned to his adviser with a slight apologetic expression.
"The night is falling. We have covered more than twenty miles today. Perhaps, it is time to rest. This is a good place to camp for the night. There is a small stream. Men and beasts could do with it." His old friend said, pointing to the shimmering flow not far ahead.
"That would be good. See that everything is in order, Gamling."
"Yes, my lord."
Gamling pulled the left reins of his charger and rode back to the host. In a loud and clear voice, he shouted, "We will camp near to the stream ahead. Make ready."
Thus, the company stopped when they came before the stream. The camps were assembled and a few campfires were kindled. Provisions were laid and food preparation was in progress. Éomer squinted at the figures around the fire trying to prepare something edible. His men took turns to do the cooking. They were a massive party. One pair of hands would not be enough to organise everything.
He found a higher ground and settled himself there. Overlooking the plains and the moving shadows around the campfires, he let out a soft sigh.
"Are you feeling well?" His Gondorian counterpart asked, approaching him and sitting next to him.
"I am."
"You seem really quiet today."
"It is exhausting." He responded softly.
Aragorn knew the journey was a mental torment, seeing people coming to pay their respect and crying over the casket was never an easy emotion to handle.
"Éomer, if you ever need anything, if Rohan ever needs anything, just tell me." Placing his hand on the young man's shoulder, Aragorn gave his friend a reassuring squeeze.
"Appreciation noted." His lips curled into a smile.
A happy uproar across the camp caught both their attention. Lothíriel was seen busy distributing food to everyone who gathered around her.
"I heard Imrahil's daughter is going to Rohan as a diplomat." His older friend turned to him and smiled.
"And?" Éomer could not help but draw a frown on his face.
The King of Gondor raised an eyebrow at his friend's reaction, eyeing him doubtfully. "Is there something I should know?"
"Lord Imrahil offered and I accepted," he murmured.
"I did not know you had some dealings with Imrahil. Behind close doors." The older king teased him.
Éomer rolled his eyes. "Let's just say it has been settled."
"Oh…" His friend responded with a long sound.
"It is not what you think." Éomer rolled his eyes and sighed.
"Care to explain?"
"No and it ends here." He put a stop to their discussion.
"What ends here?"
A voice rang above them and they above looked up to find Lothíriel standing in front of them with a loaf of brown bread, two very large wooden bowls and spoons in one hand and a pot of steaming stew in the other. There was ash fly on her face and hair. Her apron did not look very clean either. There was some trace of blood on it, probably from some livestock which were unfortunate to meet their ends on a chopping board.
She gazed at both the sitting men. It was two very different reactions she received – Éomer snorted and turned his head away; Aragorn just smiled politely at her.
"You should eat, my Lord Kings," she placed the cast iron pot on the ground and filled one yew[3] bowl with some stew and passed it to Aragorn together with a spoon and the loaf of bread. Aragorn happily accepted her offer but showed some suspicion after looking at the content in his bowl, remembering the last stew he had from Éowyn.
Sensing his doubt, Lothíriel explained, "It is called the Stew of the Kings [4] and has been prepared with marinated chicken and beef, then braised with taters and garnished with chopped sprigs of parsley. It is an ancient recipe from Annuminas, a meal only prepared for a king and his knights on the eve of battle."
"Oh….." Deliberately showing a surprised expression, the Dunedain's eyes darted from the stew in his hands to Lothíriel's face. Slowly he lifted the spoon and brought a piece of meat close and into his mouth, and he took his time to chew it. Lothíriel watched Aragorn closely, trying to suppress her laughter. The expression on the Gondorian King's face was too comical.
"It is very delicious. Thank you," Aragorn praised after trying the dish.
"No, thank you, my lord," she smiled, not able to hold the laughter in her voice.
Éomer stared at his Ranger friend with a guarded face, not convinced by his words.
"It is really good. You should try it," Aragorn took another spoon. His confidence to stews somehow had been replenished.
A little annoyed and offended by Éomer's reaction, her lips stretched into a flat line. Lothíriel filled the second bowl to its very full and just shovelled it into Éomer's hands, ignoring his immediate response.
"I slaughtered and prepared the poor animals myself if that sounds reassuring at all, my lord?" She pronounced unhappily, tilting her head aside, her mouth curved wryly. Why had she agree to come here to deliver the dinner? If it was not for Éothain who kept reminding her that his king had not eaten much today, she won't either bother! Why did she push herself to meet him again when all she wanted was to avoid him? And now all she received was a snort and suspicios look. She must have boiled her brain while she was cooking.
Éomer pulled a long face, examining the steaming-hot brownish stew in the yew bowl.
"For Valar's sake, it is not poison!" She gestured with a sign annoyance.
Lifting the pot of stew, she turned to Aragorn and gave him a quick bow, "Have a good evening, my Lord Kings." With that she went heading back to the camp.
"I will get Hannor to collect the bowls and spoons. Finish it." Her voice trailed off.
That was intended for Éomer.
"What?" Annoyed, Éomer barked at his friend, seeing the amusement that escaped from his lips.
"Nothing. I was saying you should eat before it..turns….. cold….," lifting a spoonful of stew in front of his face, Aragorn said slowly. Amusement continued to flash in his eyes as he looked at his young friend.
"Whatever," Éomer murmured.
Much to everyone's delight, the evening was becoming lively. Most had gathered around the camp fire to sing songs and share jokes. Leading the pack, Éothain decided to start with riddle games. However he found that he was losing his edge. The crowd excreted with loud laughter and followed by occasional clapping.
"I can't keep losing!" Éothain declared his dissatisfaction. His face sulked.
"Who keeps winning?" A deep voice came from above them.
Everyone looked up and saw the two kings standing side by side. Éomer did not seem at all offended by the bubbly atmosphere. In fact, he welcomed the change of air. From the beginning the journey to Edoras was suffocating him. It was always good to have a different bit of a breather.
"Lord Éomer! King Elessar!" The crowd exclaimed. Then someone offered, "Would you like to join us? We are exercising our minds with some riddle games!"
"Or, should we say the riddles exercise Éothain's brain!" said one of Éomer's riders. The crowd laughed again.
"Ah," Aragorn could not hold back his laugh. "So, who is the riddle master?"
"It depends who wins. And I lose again." Éothain admitted his defeat.
"Do you want to start, Éomer?" Aragorn turned to his friend, inviting him to a challenge.
Éomer moved forward, his riders squeezed among themselves to empty out a space for their king. The crowd roared once the young king sat down. He began, "In people, I am scorned, In structures,I am feared. In sounds, I am harsh. But in strength, I am king."
Most of the crowd looked bewildered at his first riddle. They were not getting it.
"What is that with sounds, structures and king?" muttered one of the Gondorian knights.
Standing behind the crowd, overhearing the riddle, whilst drying her hands, Lothíriel simply answered, "Rude or rudeness."
All heads turned towards her.
Éomer raised one of his straight eyebrows at her. Not willing to admit the answer, his words came out at a very slow pace. "That is cor-rect."
"Would you like to join us, Lady Lothíriel?" Aragorn extended his hand politely.
"If that does not spoil your fun."
Aragorn then turned his head slowly to see at Éomer, expecting an answer from him.
"Anyone can join the game!" Without waiting for an answer from his King, Éothain stood up and offered his place to the lady. His King watched wordlessly.
"Ahem," clearing his throat, Éomer resumed the game, "Listening to me will bring visions to mind,of dragons and castles and kingdoms declined.Am I fact or just fancy? It is up for debate.But one thing is for certain: I am unlikely sedate!"
"Story!" Her answer was full of confidence.
"Your turn, my lady."
"I am the ocean during a terrible storm. I gain strength from fights and heated words. My greatest enemy is calm," she smirked at him, the challenge in her eyes was evident.
"Anger." Crisp and short, a straight hit to the red eye.
"That is correct." Not anticipating him to know the answer, now she found herself repeating his word with the very same tone.
Taking a sip from her mug, she continued, "I am the black child of a white father, a wingless bird flying to heaven. I birth tears of sorrow in pupils that meet me, and at once on my birth, I vanish like a spark."
"Smoke."
"Fine. Your turn," said in a bitter tone, she appeared rather unimpressed with his prompt response, whilst the riders went on applauding for their king. The riddle game carried on for a few rounds before Éothain eventually decided to break the dual battle between his king and the Gondorian lady. For him, draw at each round was too boring, only defeats and wins were defined as fun in his dictionary.
The last riddle from Lothíriel landed her with some considerable embarrassment that forced her to blush so heavily that she had to excuse herself from the crowd. She had not thought Éomer would have known it. Her riddle went : I am just two and two. I am hot. I am cold. I am the parent of numbers that cannot be told. I am a gift beyond measure, a matter of course, and I am yielded with pleasure— then taken by force.
And Éomer was staring straight into her sea-grey irises; the fires sparkled in his amber eyes. His reply came out in the most hypnotising and ambigious tone to her ears. The answer was a kiss.
The crowd went wild.
TBC
Chapter 14: She finally came into terms with her own feeling.
Footnotes
[1] As observed in the tent of Théoden at Dunharrow.
[2] 350 miles as calculated from The Atlas of Middle Earth. Journey to Edoras from Minas Tirith takes 15 days. The company will have to cover 23 miles per day.
[3] Yew: a type of tree, known for use as tableware
[4]A dish from LOTRO, Artisan cook recipe. I like the name and the fact that it is from Annuminas, it bears more sense to use it.
[5] All riddles are extracted selectively from Riddles Beneath The Inn (LOTRO ingame quest). They are also available on the internet.