Writ of Shadows and Phantoms
Chapter 29: The Heart Seeker
~Amor Vincit Omnia~
The council the next morning circled much around already known issues with a few amendments. Éomer dismissed the rest of his council save Gamling and Éothain. He also asked Stán and Édhere to join them for this private conference.
Éomer retrieved the two tomes from a drawer and placed them on a table. He dragged his eyes across the hall darting between his subordinates standing around him. Gamling looked surprised and a little taken aback by the objects whilst Éothain made a hard attempt to swallow a lump. Stán just kept eyeing at his captain and Édhere looked completely confused.
"Care to tell me why I was not told of these?" Éomer asked, arm-crossed, gesturing at the two leather-bound tomes with a little movement of his chin.
"My Lord, Lady Lothíriel thought it was not necessary to inform you. The texts are simply meant as a record," Gamling answered softly.
"Simply as a record? Are you sure, Gamling? When you went around talking to the visitors with her, did it not register to you that she had this in mind?"
Éomer slipped a loose-bound volume open and turned to the pages that brought him teary last night.
"She only mentioned that her only intent was to keep it as a record, my Lord! And I did not see any harm in doing so."
Éomer could hear the urgency in Gamling's voice as he defended Lothíriel.
"You should have told me, Gamling. You should have."
The sudden softness in Éomer's voice caused Gamling to look up at him. Perhaps he was expecting his King to be upset but was surprised that he was not.
Éomer sighed and pulled his lips into a thin line. "And this?" He pointed at a thicker tome but his eyes were fixed on Éothain. "A few of your late Riders are in it."
Éothain who was taking his chance to move further and further away from the discussion table when Gamling was being questioned, hid his face behind his hands. "I don't know anything!"
"Éothain…"
"I told you I don't know!"
"Try again."
"I don't know what you are saying!"
"As if you could lie."
"My Lord Éomer!" Gave up, the young Marshal removed his hands and marched back toward Éomer. "Lady Lothíriel only wanted the families of the deceased to have something to remember, you know, not just the gold or land that we offered as compensation…"
"And?"
"…we dug the dirt to recover some belongings of the fallen before we left Mundberg last July."
"You and Lothíriel?"
"Marshal Elfhelm was helping with some facial description and Stán lent us a hand with a shovel…" Éothain gestured at his Sergeant.
Stán instantly shrugged and claimed he was only following orders. And Édhere, still confused about the need of his presence, just kept saying he was not at the War.
"So, why nobody cared to tell me?"
The old and young riders exchanged looks with each other but remained silent.
"Why does it bother you so much, my Lord?" The older rider, being the most courageous, asked back.
"You know, Gamling, this is what…"Éomer, taken aback by Gamling question, said his mind out slowly although he wished not to be so frank. Looking down at the tomes, he slid his hand cross the pages. His voice was still soft but a little shaky. "... a queen should do, what my queen should be doing - caring for her people, remembering the deeds of the both the unforgotten and forgotten, and offering consolation to those that have been left behind."
The looks of his riders were replaced by short-lived consternation then quickly by delight. A smile broke crossed the oldest Rider's face. "Indeed, my King. Indeed!"
The young king looked up. His next question earned another delightful look.
"Who would wish to visit Belfalas?"
"Me! Me! My Lord Éomer, this is what I have been waiting for you to say all these weeks!"
"Lord Éomer, this is good news!"
"When are we leaving, Sire? When are we leaving?"
Éomer raised a hand to calm their excitement. He turned to the eldest rider. "Not you, Gamling. Not this time. I am sorry that you would have to stay in Edoras, not only for the reason that you should oversee the matters in my absence but also I cannot take you away when your lady needs you the most."
"But my Lord-"
"My decision is final. It would be cruel of me to steal you away when it is the most important time of your life. I can't do it, old friend!"
Gamling only replied with a silent smile, obviously satisfied with the reason given.
"When are we leaving? Are we taking a boat or a ship? Should we send a messenger to Dol Amroth now?" Came a series of enthusiastic questions.
"Éothain, would you calm down, please!" Éomer frowned at his overly excited Marshal. Was there a need to be so impatient? "No, do not send a messenger. I do not wish to announce my visit so soon. We will send a messenger when we arrive in Edhellond. It should only take ten days to reach Dol Amroth."
"Ten days?" Éothain lifted both his hands trying to re-check Éomer's calculation. "But the journey to Mundberg would have taken ten days…"
"We are going through Dwimorberg."
"The Haunted Moutains!" Éothain bit his lip. "Noooo! It is haunted!"
"It is not anymore. Aragorn released all the undead. The passage is clear."
"But why? Why don't we take the Great River?"
"Because cutting the White Mountains is quicker!" Éomer shot his young Marshal a look, not understanding what was beneath that blond head.
"But whyyyyy? I think it is haunted. Gimli said there are skulls in the cave!" Éothain scratched his beard, unsure if he wanted to visit Belfalas anymore.
"It is a safe passage now. Just send a messenger to Dunharrow. We will ride out in two days and camp there before we cross Dwimorberg. And Éothain, take only a few men. Make sure Stán, Édhere and Hereswið are included in your number."
So it began the preparation to Dol Amroth.
The good news of Éomer visiting Dol Amroth spread like wildfire. The children were particularly over the moon. Hannor dashed into Éomer's room immediately after learning it. He could not stop smiling.
"Do not come back without Lady Lothíriel!" He pointed a warning finger at Éomer before he returned to the orphanage.
Éomer just smiled, amused by the gesture and mischief that the young boy had picked up from his Riders.
It was afternoon when the meeting with Gamling finally drew an end. The crops harvested and the spare stocks were sufficient to cover the coming winter. It was a great burden off his shoulders that the Riddermark would be self-sufficient again and more importantly to be no longer dependent on Gondor for feeding his people.
Although Éomer did not plan to stay long in Dol Amroth, he could not exclude the possibility that he was likely to be away for more than a fortnight, given that the single journey would have taken ten days each way.
Éomer was heading to the kitchen of Meduseld when he stopped behind a door and heard Éothain talking to someone. Peeking from the narrow gap, he saw his young Marshal sitting on a work top and chatting to Hereswið. Éomer's heart warmed as it was a scene much similar to the days when he was watching Lothíriel busying herself with flour and jams.
"I have not seen the sea in my life before!" Éowyn's former handmaiden exclaimed, working on some pastries for tea.
"Either have I!" Éothain extended his arm and grabbed an apple.
"It is SUCH a relief when you told me that Éomer King has finally decided to visit Dol Amroth…" she turned her head around to check nobody was within their proximity, "…it took him long enough!"
"He is not very clever sometimes! A little thick when it comes to things like this, you know!" He made a circular motion with his finger next to his temple.
"You don't know, every time when one of the maids places a dish in front of him, she always wants to run for cover. We have grown so worried that at every meal, he would complain again about the food - being too salty, under cooked or too stiff!"
Éothain bit into his apple and continued to share his thought. "You were not at the breakfast table, weren't you?"
The young woman shook her head. "I've tried to avoid it since I came back. I've heard that he is being fastidious!"
"Of course he is! He somehow has developed this habit of having a warm egg PEELED! Or, the tea mixed to the EXACT amount of milk and sugar! Or the butter of ONE-FIFTH of an inch spread on a piece of bread! When you get it wrong, you will receive that look from him. That disdainful look!" Éothain hopped off the work top and rubbed his hands clean on his tunic. "Who on the whole of Riddermark would pay attention to how thick the butter should be on his bread! I mean, the only person who would ever get things right is his woman for Béma's sake!"
"I can't agree anymore! He came around here a few times! He would show up suddenly with some interesting object, it could be a piece of vegetable or some parcel of meat, and he would almost call out Lady Lothíriel's name, saying 'Look, what I have found, Loth-' and stop abruptly and come to remember that she was not here anymore. And everyone in the kitchen would turn to look at him, not knowing either to greet him or not! Then, we had to return to our tasks at hand, pretending nothing had happened and acting like normal! It was so embarrassing! It still drives all the maids insane!"
Their share of small talk continued until Hereswið pushed the pastries into an oven and turned around and saw Éomer standing at the kitchen door. A frown knitted between his brows and his jaws was clapped tight.
"You are lucky that you are not dragged down to the training field every morning before sunrise! Yesterday morning, he swung Gúthwinë so hard that I thought I was going to die!"
She gulped and swished her fingers anxiously in front of the young Marshal to stop him from talking.
Éothain continued to indulge himself in his little story-telling until he saw a throat-cutting gesture from Hereswið.
He squeezed his eyes and swallowed hard and asked quietly without making a sound. His lips read: Oh shit! He is behind me, isn't he?
Hereswið nodded eagerly a few times.
The cough from behind finally made Éothain turn to greet his King.
"My Lord Éomer!" He forced a smile, absolutely convinced that Éomer had heard every word of their private discussion.
Hereswið only bowed so low that she could not be anymore lower.
Éomer scowled at the young pair as he dropped a dead goose on a work top. He went to clean his hands, before leaving them alone.
"The soup is too salty because some numb head added the salt twice!"
His voice trailed off as he walked out of the kitchen.
Hereswið interchanged a look with Éothain and burst out in laughter. Éomer was not angry with them! They escaped!
It finally came the day that they began their trip to Dol Amroth. Éomer stood at the front porch of Meduseld, disbelieved and bewildered with what he was seeing. Rows and rows of Riders, ready with their camping gear and bedrolls, assembled at a lower open space of Edoras.
He turned to his grinning Marshal who stood next to him tall and proud; and pointed at the mounted Riders, "I told you to take only a few men, Éothain! Not five dozen!"
Éothain responded with a shrug. "I asked who wanted to visit the sea and many answered! And as their captain, I made a virtue of necessity to agree."
"But sixty Riders! We are not invading Dol Amroth for Béma's sake!"
"Mind you, my Lord Éomer, I've singled out all the married and old men! Otherwise it could easily be the whole éored!"
Éomer blew a long breath and put on his helmet.
"Forth Eorlingas!"
Men on horses rode out of Edoras, with a white horse tail leading ahead.
Green cloaks flew whipping wildly in the autumn breeze.
Songs were heard under the thundering hooves.
The Rohirrim column passed through Dwimorberg, admiring the snow-covered sharp summit of Starkhorn and misty peaks of the White Mountains.
Everyone was merry except Éothain who had been reckless until they left the passage.
He had been clinging on to an amulet which he believed would chase away any evil spirits. He kept it with him all the time. All the times when he was taking a wash in the river. All the times when he answered his natural calls.
His King could only sigh and shake his head helplessly.
In the mid of their journey, they camped at Erech to replenish their provisions. The following three days they settled next to River Morthond. On the sixth day, they arrived in Edhellond, the Elf Harbour. Éomer sent a messenger to Dol Amroth to notify his arrival. His letter reached Imrahil just two days before he was due to arrive.
Imrahil eyed each word in the letter carefully. He turned the letter around to study the seal it carried again. It was correct. The red royal seal of Rohan.
His three sons gathered around him. Elphir, to Imrahil's surprise, was the at least anxious of all. Erchirion could not stop mumbling to himself about the deliberately brought-forward visit by the Rohirrim. Amrothos made the intent to inform his sister about this but Imrahil stopped him.
"Lothíriel is already on the fishing boat. She won't be back until two days later."
"But that will be too late to tell her."
"Let it be," his father insisted. "Amrothos, please arrange the housing and all the necessity to accommodate the Rohirrim. Elphir, inform the council of this, arrange a feast and a few excursions. A visit to Belfalas shall never be complete without a trip to the sea!"
Imrahil walked over to his second child and put a hand on his shoulder to calm Erchirion. "You come with me to meet the Rohirrim at the North Gate."
"But Father-"
He cut off his son and stern his voice was. "And leave the matter between Lothíriel and Éomer to me. Do not interfere."
The Rohirrim arrived a few hours earlier than expected. It was before dawn that Imrahil waited at the North Gate of Dol Amroth with Erchirion. He could see the anxiety and anger that was drawing the patience out of his second child.
"Why did he only inform us two days before his arrival?" Erchirion finally open his mouth to complain. "I mean, Father, with all respect, he is a renowned warrior, a king, why did he not tell us when he left Edoras?"
Imrahil watched his agitated son pacing impatiently. The Prince of Dol Amroth peered into the still dark horizon. "It never occurs to you the reasons behind his late-announced visit?"
"He is a careless and disorganised person despite being an efficient warrior on the battlefield. I do hold high regard for him, Father but I cannot bring myself to agree with him on this matter. Giving us two days of notice prior to his arrival is a little unjust. And why did he have to visit three weeks earlier than his initial schedule?"
"You are wrong, Erchirion."
His child stopped moving and looked at him.
Imrahil squeezed his eyes at the first sight of a flickering light. "The notice is short, indeed. Firstly, he did so to ensure that we could not decline his request. If I had not agreed to his visit, it would have taken the messenger two days to send the reply and by that time, the Rohirrim would have arrived anyway. He has been organised and has everything according to his plan. And secondly…" he gestured at his son to descend from a watch tower as more moving figures became visible. "…what is so important in Dol Amroth that makes him he bring forward his visit?"
They came to stand in front of a pair of gigantic carved stone door.
Erchirion looked at his father wordlessly. He knew the answer to that second question but he could not hold back his anger. "If Sister was so important to him, why did he not come to Dol Amroth immediately but waited until now, until mid fall?"
"All these years, you always say Elphir is being too protective of Lothíriel. It is natural for older siblings to be protective of younger ones. Elphir lets Lothíriel the opportunities to experience the assorted facets of life. It is only when she has encountered a problem that he steps in to offer his counsel. Of all the brothers, you are the most protective, Erchirion." Imrahil, arm-crossed behind his back, turned to his son.
Erchirion was surprised by his father sudden remark but was unable to deny the truth in his father's words.
"You are always able to predict your sister's next move and stop her even before she gives a try. Let her learn. She is stronger than you remember, my son. She will decide her fate herself. It is time that we take a step back in our role. And, you really think Éomer did not wish to come to Dol Amroth as soon as he found out Lothíriel had left? Rohan is recovering from the War. Most of her land is scorched down to ashes by the devilry of Saruman. I won't be surprised that Éomer wanted to be certain that his people have enough harvest to cover this coming winter before he could ride away for more than a month!"
Just as Erchirion wanted to argue, a blow from a horn rang clear and loud in the air, sending a group of seabirds scattering off the dark land.
A herald, also the bearer of the royal banner of Rohan, dressed in Rohirrim fine armaments, rode forward to formally announce the arrival of the Rohirrim. "His majesty, King Éomer of Rohan, wishes to announce his arrival!"
Imrahil and his son bowed at the Rohír. "Dol Amroth welcomes thee."
The Lord of Belfalas raised a hand and the tower guards blew their trumpets. The city leaped into life with colourful torches lighting up from the entrance path to the main ford of Dol Amroth. The flags of silver and blue whipped cracking loud in the sea breeze.
Imrahil mounted on a grey horse and steered it forward to meet the approaching Rohirrim column. To meet Éomer, to be precise.
"It is an honour to have you here, King Éomer," he greeted as he rode side by side with the King of Rohan.
"I thank you, Prince Imrahil. You must forgive me for the abruptness in this matter," he replied with a hint of smile.
"Do not speak as such! We hope you won't find our hospitality lesser."
"I hope my large number of company would prove themselves…" Éomer paused, looking back at the sixty odd horses behind him, "…controlled and behaved. They have been a little excited at the mention of the word 'sea'."
The Lord of Belfalas chuckled.
Imrahil led the company to up the stone stairs. He could see that many of them were astonished by the structures of his landing. Even Éomer could not help but admire the craftsmanship as they went passed the still sleepy City.
When they reached the hall, the company was immediately offered wash and breakfast. Imrahil looked up at a window. The first light of the day began to break through the veil of dark. A thought came to his mind.
"Lord Éomer, have you seen sunrise over the sea?"
"No, I have not."
"Perhaps you wish to join me at the upper balcony?"
"I would be pleased, my friend."
Imrahil gave instructions to his sons to take care of the remaining Rohirrim whilst he led the Lord of Rohan to the upper court.
He accepted a walking stick from his man. Éomer arched an eyebrow at this but said nothing. Imrahil simply ignored and kept his friend busy with the history of Dol Amroth.
"Dol Amroth is built around a sea wall, mainly to protect the city from rising tides as well as the enemies. Long ago, we believed that it was a line of cliffs. As times passes and the waves keep clashing, the erosion shaped the coastal landscape, leaving this hill upon which the House of Adrahil had built their ford."
They came to the top of the City. Imrahil watched the change of expression on Éomer's face as they stood at the most ideal location to take in the beauty of Dol Amroth. The young king did not seem tired at all. In fact he showed no sign of fatigue despite having ridden many hours just before.
Imrahil had a test for this young man but that would have to wait until a few days later. At this moment he wanted to see the young king's reaction with his own eyes, to affirm his initial speculation.
"There are several docks and piers that have been used by the fishermen as long as the Sindarin passage has recorded," he continued to point at the empty quay. "The fishing boats should arrive shortly after the sunrise."
As he spoke, a great solar deity rose over the Bay of Belfalas, casting its golden sheen upon the mirror sea below.
"Béma's!"
He heard a gasp from the young man who was more than amazed by his first sight of sunrise over the sea.
The glowing sphere rose slowly into the purple morning sky, hiding partially behind the silver clouds. Bright beams illuminated the peninsula, the city seemed to be rejuvenated by the warmth cast upon it, growing more vivid with the each passing moments. The sea birds sang as they flew above the shore.
"Its beauty is behind words, Imrahil!" the young Rohír exclaimed.
"Indeed, my friend! There is a causeway just to the left of the city, as you can see. When the tide runs high, it will be partially submerged. The tides in this area change quickly, almost as swiftly as a galloping horse! Quite a view in the evening, I must say."
His reference to a horse earned a chuckle from Éomer.
"Then I must see it with my own eyes."
"I am sure you will have the opportunity to. And look!" Imrahil pointed at the objects approaching the docks. "The fishing boats have returned."
Éomer squinted and leaned forward to take a good look at the small harbour. Men and women, young and old started disembarking from the boats, laughing and joking joyfully. Imrahil continued to observe as something or someone on the pier caught Éomer's attention. The young man's eyes lit up as he gazed down at the moving men and women.
A young lady let out a hearty cry, helping the people to carry the fishes on to the shore. She wore a dark colour cloak that stretched out like raven's wings under the sea breeze. She lifted her head and the hood fell back off her head.
Imrahil watched as surprise dawned on the face of Horse-lord. He believed Éomer cast him a quick glimpse from his shoulder.
Lothíriel laughed at children who gathered around her asking for sea shells. The warm sunlight danced on her face as she made her way back to the ford.
He did it on purpose.
Imrahil did it on purpose.
That was the first thought that crossed Éomer's mind when he spotted Lothíriel among the fishermen and fisherwomen. And all this time, he was under the scrutiny of Imrahil. The Prince of Belfalas probably read all that was written on his face.
"Perhaps we should return to the hall where your company awaits us," the Prince offered.
Éomer could but reply with a smile and followed Imrahil. But within, he wondered Imrahil's intention, not only that he did not see Lothíriel when he arrived at the gate just now, but judging from the sight, he believed that Lothíriel was not told of his visit either. She would not have been out fishing if she knew he was coming, would she?
She pulled her steed back into the stable and found it was more crowded than when she left two days ago. A particular neigh caught her attention. A contemptuous one actually.
She turned around slowly and saw a grey stallion, standing proud in the left box.
Firefoot?
On a fence, it sat a saddle with horse heads of golden rims weaving along the curves of the front pommel and back cantle. She knew that saddle. She ran her fingers over the rims, trying to convince herself that she was not dreaming.
This could not be true.
She stared at his steed wide-eyed. The beast complained again, probably disdainfully at the Belfalsian stable. Her mind went completely absent. A loud snort woke her up. She found her emotions dwelled between uncertainty and delight.
Her feet turned towards the on-duty stable-master.
"Did we receive any guests this morning?"
"Yes, my Lady. The King of Rohan and his sixty-odd riders arrived just less than an hour ago."
"Thank you."
She put in all her effort trying to sound normal. In wide steps, she paced swiftly back to the ford. Her heart hammered loudly in her heart. So loud that she could hear the echoes in her ears. The wonderful sense of anticipation within her soared with every step closer to the ford.
"He is here! He is in Dol Amroth!"
She spoke her thoughts out without realising it. Her cheeks were burning and her lungs were pushing constantly for more air. She was not certain if it was her quick walking, or, the strong urge to see him that bated her breathing.
Her feet stopped right in front of a pair of massive slabs of dark oak with iron bands. Behind these doors, she would find him.
Why was she here? Why did she run all the way to the ford? She questioned her own sanity. It was irrational but sensibility did not register in her mind anymore. Her brain was clogged with the desire to see him. Right now.
She drew a deep breath to regain her composure and then she slowly pushed the giant doors open.
The hinges squeaked and the view in the Hall widened as the doors drew apart.
She saw him. That reddish brown armour. That blond mane. That striking presence. He was standing next to her father, his back facing her. They stopped their conversation and he turned his head around.
His signature frown still knitted shallowly between his brows. His face was covered with travel dust.
Their gazes locked. There was a silence. It seemed as if time had stopped.
Waves of emotions flushed down from her head to toes. The overflowing joy crushed at her from all directions, coursing into each of her veins. It was hard to suppress her lips from moving upwards. She could not deny all parts of her were happy.
Very happy indeed to see him.
Struggling to remind herself the formal courtesy, she gave him a polite nod and switched her gaze to her father.
"Good morning, Father. I did not know King Éomer would be in Dol Amroth! I saw Firefo-, I mean, King Éomer's steed at the stable."
She found her voice shaky. The cool mask she put on just before risked slipping off any moment. She must keep reminding herself to maintain the formal courtesy in her speech. It was Dol Amroth here, not Edoras. It was her father's landing. She must show her manner as a child of Prince of Dol Amroth.
"The messenger arrived two days ago, Lothíriel. I meant to tell you but you were already out in the sea."
Her father's words brought her to realise the bluntness of her behaviour. It was a silly question. Why should her father need to check with her about visitors?
"I am sorry, Father. I did not mean to be impolite."
"No worries, Lothíriel. It was indeed sudden."
"The fault lies with me not Prince Imrahil, my Lady," Éomer finally spoke, "the proposed visit was in another one month but there are matters that cannot wait. I apologise if I have caused any inconvenience by my sudden presence. "
His words almost made her beam. He finally came! And almost a month earlier! She always thought he would be so angry with her that he would never keep his promise of visiting Dol Amroth.
She felt her heart pounding again and her ears burning hot. She hoped neither her father nor he noticed. What should she say? She screened the hall, trying to escape from the awkward happiness that was overpowering her. Someone was not here when he was supposed to be.
"Where is Lord Gamling?"
"He is in Edoras. Wynflaéth is pregnant."
Wynflaéth? Pregnant? How much had she missed in Edoras? How she wished she would just appear in Meduseld and congratulate the couple! They were so lovely and caring. They-
"Perhaps, you would like to show King Éomer around Dol Amroth after we are finished in the afternoon."
Her father's word broke her out of her short reverie.
"Yes, I could do that…"She breathed, standing there, still not convinced by his presence. She could not take her eyes off him. His face still showed its fair share of sunburn and freckles. His appearance scruffy as always. His emerald eyes keen as always.
"Lothíriel, you should get changed."
It was Elphir who reminded her.
"Yes, of course!" she looked at herself, embarrassment struck her as she was dressed in a fisherman outfit, grim and dirty, probably still stinking from the smell of the fishes. The worst way to greet a guest!
She curtsied quickly before leaving, "I will see you later, my Lords."
Now Éomer was certain the Imrahil did everything it on purpose but the intention remained hidden from him. Was it so difficult to send a messenger to the dock to inform Lothíriel of his arrival? No, it, obviously, wasn't. Was Imrahil testing him? Or was he testing his daughter too?
At dining times, everything was just as high and polite society would be. The leader of the guests, that was him, sitting next to Imrahil. The three sons of Imrahil were positioned next to his Marshal and his third and fourth in command. Lothíriel, was very likely and deliberately, arranged to be seated five chairs away from him, next to Hereswið.
Imrahil had offered the Rohirrim some local products as a welcome banquet. Éomer found it a little too luxurious to feed everyone of his company a fish as to him, fishing seemed a dangerous profession.
And the dining manner was a little different to the Riddermark. The Rohirrim always served food in huge plates or pots and then dished appropriate amount out to each hungry soul. It was very rare that dishes were served individually. It was also normal for the Rohirrim to share a roasted dish. Pigs and hunting prizes such as boars or deers were often set above an open firepit and people were welcome dig out any portions as they wished. Éomer thought there were enough unnecessary table manners at his sister's place but Dol Amroth proved him wrong. There were four sets of cutlery: starter, soup, main and dessert. All the kitchenware was made of silver, even the chalice.
Expecting Imrahil to question the intent of his visit at the lunch table, he was surprised nothing was brought up. Their conversation lingered around their journey through the White Mountains and their stop at Edhellond.
As dishes were brought on to the table, all the Horse-lords eyed their plates suspiciously and almost everyone turned to look at their King, expectantly for an answer.
Éomer stared down at the small plate in front of him. The thing in it was strange. Almost black tiny spheres, shiny and slimy probably, sitting on top of a piece of buttered bread. It did not look appealing at all. And little things looked alive?
His hands hesitated at picking up a fork.
"Lord Éomer."
He lifted his eyes and saw Lothíriel talking to him. She took a piece of the same bread and pointed at the heap of dark globules on top. "These are fish eggs. Like eggs from chicken, but these are from a fish called sturgeon."
"Fish eggs?" asked one of the Royal Guards.
"Yes," she took a quick glance across the sitting guests and returned her eyes to Éomer. "We have them as a starter in Belfalas. You should try. It is very nice."
Her words did little to convince the Rohirrim but Éomer watched as she demonstrated, feeding the piece of bread into her mouth.
"Please try, my friend." Imrahil gestured at the dish to courage his guests.
Not completely ensured that the fish eggs were edible, Éomer took a small bite and was surprised it was not at all as disgusting as it looked. Except that the eggs were exploding in his mouth. It was still strange.
The Rohirrim followed the suit of their King, each beginning his or her first gastronomic adventure of sea product.
"They pop in my mouth! Oh, delicious!" Hereswið cried, covering her mouth with a hand.
Lothíriel smiled at the younger woman. "I am glad you like it."
She turned to Éomer and asked, "How do you find it, my Lord?"
After taking a sip of his water, he wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin and replied in a neutral tone, "It tastes better than it looks."
"Don't judge a horse by its saddle." She smiled.
Absence does make heart grow fonder.
Her smile nearly made his heart leap. He pretended to take another sip when the maids came to collect the empty plates and brought the main course. Assorted cooked vegetables were also placed in the middle of the long table.
This time it was a huge parcel of red fillet with thin pale lines trailing across it. The hot-steaming dish did smell nice. Éomer briefly recalled there was a very similar dish at Éowyn's wedding. Except that it was dry and cured at that time.
More serving maids came buzzing around with small plates of sauces and chopped herbs.
Just when a maid tried to sprinkle some herbs on his dish, someone shouted, "NO!"
He looked up and saw a slender arm in mid air. He could see embarrassment flushed her face red.
Lothíriel extended her arms to stop the maid, but realised her shout was a little too loud that it caught the attention of everyone, she pulled herself back and spoke in a lower tone, "King Éomer does not like pasley."
That earned an inquiring look not only from her brothers but also her father. But all the Rohirrim were busy with their food as if they were used to the interaction between their king and the Lady of Dol Amroth, which of course, they were.
Éomer cleared his throat. "I don't need any herbs. Thank you."
"This is sockeye salmon, King Éomer," Elphir made the introduction to the marine product.
"It is very red for a fish."
"Which means it is the best fish in the sea."
The fillet looked safe physically. There was nothing sticking out. The image of Lothíriel consuming the poor pike in Emyn Arnen came back to haunt him. The bones. He now understood why she was using her fingers to clear the bones. He looked at the fillet again and was not sure where to begin.
"Are you not eating, my Lord?"
"Are there bones?"
It would be extremely impolite to have to split out the bones in front of Imrahil. Not that his table manner was that bad but he did have some pride as the ruler of the Riddermark.
She quickly stood up and went around the table to his side. She took a spare fork and parted the fillet from its midsection. "If there are any bones, they would be in the middle. See, there are none."
Forced into close proximity by the confined space between the chairs, she stood towering over him with her scent swirling into his nostril. Her hair had grown. She had lost some weight. Éomer knew he was struggling with the slide of his control. It reminded him the night of Éowyn's wedding and…their last night in Emyn Arnen.
A cough brought the almost solid silence.
He forced a smile. "Thank you. I should be fine from now."
"I will leave it with you then."
She returned to her seat.
Éomer watched her as she moved, consciously aware that Imrahil's eyes never left them. Never left him. How much had the Prince devise from his face, Éomer did not know but he was certain that Imrahil did have something in mind which he would figure out sooner or later.
The afternoon was spent strolling in the City. The Rohirrim were accompanied by all the children of Imrahil. Much to Éomer's dismay, Elphir had offered to lead the tour and Lothíriel volunteered to be at the end of the column so that the rest of the Riders were not left out. From time to time, he could hear her bursting out in Rohirric and sharing jokes with Éothain, Hereswið, Stán and Édhere.
The group stopped at a market square. Almost all traders, merchants and vendors knew her. They waved and came out to greet her. And she waved back with big smiles on her face every time. She was exactly how she was in Edoras and Dol Amroth.
Some approached the Riders with gifts and others offered beverages. Younger ones stayed a little further, whispering among themselves. Some girls looked away, blushed at the sight of the tall and blond men. There were occasionally some children who came closer to touch their armour and hair, and giggled away when the Riders tried to communicate in their heavily accented common speech.
"You have horses that fly?" A young girl asked timidly.
"No, little one! Our horses walk and run like the horses of Belfalas."
"But my uncle told me your horses are as big as trolls and they could stamp and make holes so deep and big for me to swim in it."
Several Royal Guards stopped and kneed, smiling at the children. "They are big but not as big as trolls."
"Can I see your horse?"
"Of course, you can!" A rider laughed.
"And is your hair hard?"
"No, it is not. Why?"
"Because it shines like beaten gold."
"Do you want to touch it?"
The little girl hesitated but soon reached out to stroke the blond locks of a rider.
"It is so soft!" She exclaimed, waving at her friends to join her.
All the children standing behind her rushed toward the rider, each taking a strand of his hair and admired him like a new toy. They exchanged words in their Elvish tongue and one of the boys looked up at the Rider and offered a bouquet.
"Is this for me?" The Rider beamed at the gift.
"Yes! Lothíriel said you are the heroes who saved Gondor!"
Happily accepted the flowers, the Rider gave each child an embrace and waved at his King, shouting loudly, "My Lord! It is the first time in my life that I've ever been offered flowers! I am so in love now!"
With that encouragement, young women who waited at the Rohirrim to pass in front of their street, started throwing flowers from their balconies. The Horse-lords jumped and hopped to grab them and returned the women's gratitude with brights smiles and loud whistles!
"I've got flowers too! Thank you, sweetie!" One winked at a blushing woman.
"Hey there, beauty! Your flowers are here! With me!" Another waved loud and clear at a lady hiding behind a tree.
Éomer smiled faintly and shook his head slightly whilst his men continued to bask themselves in the warmth and affection of the Belfalasians.
On the second day, they were invited to an excursion on a ship. All the Rohirrims were very excited. For many it was their first time touching the sand, seeing the salt waters and being on a transport that could actually float on waters. The Riders Trio which was Éothain, Stán and Édhere had been talking non-stop about it since the announcement was made last night at the dinner table. When the morning came, they finished their breakfast hastily before everyone else and went down to the shore with the youngest son of Imrahil.
The rest of their comrades joined them shortly after. Laughter echoed in the morning breeze as they took off their boots, removed their socks and slumped their feet to feel the sinking sand. Some were scampering like under-aged adults, splashing waters at each other.
And finally the ship arrived and the men and women screamed and yelled like children. Éomer felt the need to apologise sometimes when his people became too loud but Imrahil just smiled and told them to be themselves. That was not the only matter that troubled Éomer. Imrahil still had not asked him about Lothíriel. And he still had not had a chance to speak to her in private either. The hospitality offered by the Lord of Dol Amroth was beyond expectations. But something invisible sat between the two rulers. There was an indescribable formality in Imrahil's tone that Éomer did not like. He was certain that the Prince did not talk as such when they first met in Mundberg.
"I don't feel so well," said one of the Royal Guards.
"Me either," Éothain put in. Blood had drained from his face and he looked weak and wobbly, hanging onto the main mast of the main deck where most of them stood.
Éomer frowned at his men. He warned them not to eat too much at breakfast, knowing some of them would have problem with sea sickness.
"Have some of these. Lady Lothíriel gave them to me before we boarded." Hereswið took something out of her pouch.
"Oh, what is this?" The young Marshal straightened up and accepted the offer. After a few bits, he cried out as if a sudden surge of energy returned to him. "I don't feel so unwell anymore!"
Éomer sighed at the young Rohír's terrible attempt to woo the woman. "You really need to try harder, Éothain!"
"I am being sincere here, my Lord Éomer! This thing, this fruit, wicked-looking thing, whatever it is, it works! The nausea is gone! And it does not taste that bad at all. A little salty, a little sour and a little sweet!"
"It is a dried plum!" Lothíriel came up from the cabin and started distributing the remedy to all the pale-looking Horse-lords. "Sour taste will suppress the nausea urge momentarily. Stay in the middle of the ship, you will feel better! And don't take any milk product when you are back onshore."
"Maybe it is better that he feels a little sick," Éomer inserted in Rohirric as he reached out a palm to accept the dried snack from Lothíriel. "He has been talking so much lately that it hurts my ears."
"Don't curse your man! He is here to enjoy himself!" She grinned and replied in his tongue, resting her back against the wooden barrier, next to him. She let the wind brush against her skin as the morning sun warmed her face.
His eyes were fixed on her. The breath had become trapped in his throat and he stared at her for a moment, forcing himself to inhale and exhale calmly, knowing some eyes were on him. Watching.
He hated being watched.
He looked at the little wrinkled dried fruit in his palm and took a small bit. He did not dislike it or like it in particular. "Thank you." He forced the word between his lips and she gave a brief nod, smiling at him.
The ship took a turn and it was moving up to the northern peninsula of Dol Amroth. High standing layers of sandstones and rocks folding against each other came into sight. Winged creatures soared above the clear blue sky.
"Oh Béma!" The Rohirrim were instantly drawn to the emerging breath-taking view.
Laughing, Lothíriel leaned forward and pointed ahead. "That is the famous Arched Cliff of Dol Amroth! When you rode down from River Mothrond, you were just behind the rock. But I don't think you could see it, especially when you were travelling in the dark!"
"Look! What are these? They are funny with their bright red bills and feet!" Hereswið cried, pointing at a group of black and white birds resting on the most vertical rock exposure.
Éomer tried to keep his eyes straight ahead on the scene ahead as Lothíriel explained the creature that drew the new attention of his company.
"They look hilarious as usual! The children often call them clowns of the ocean. But they do have a real name – puffins."
"Puffins? What a name!"
"And do you see the one that looks like a hawk with long wings?"
"Yes!"
"That is an osprey. And one of those floating on the water with reddish-pink bill, white body with chestnut patches and a black belly, and a dark green head and neck, it is called pied waterfowl!"
His eyes flew back to her as she continued to impress his fellow company.
"This is unbelievable!" Hereswið was completely astonished by the coastal wild life.
"We should visit the fish market some day. You will see strange underworld creatures that you have never seen before!" She laughed again with her excited companions.
Éomer found his lips curled into a smile. Within, he pushed and reminded himself that he really needed to talk to Imrahil in private the next day. Matter at hands could not wait.
On the third day, his wish was answered and it came with a shocking test. Imrahil had invited him for a morning ride but only to stop at a balcony of the southern court. There, the Prince of Dol Amroth urged the rest to resume their planned activity but kept Éomer. He even dismissed his daughter.
Lothíriel watched cautiously when her father led Éomer to the Garden of Mithrellas. Why did he do that? That garden had always been the most private property of the House of Adrahil. No visitors were ever allowed. Even Her sister-in-laws were only able to visit after they were married to her brothers. What was her father doing?
She stayed there for a moment on horseback, still looking at Imrahil and Éomer, but was broke off when another urge came from her father.
"You should go and join the pack."
Her eyes narrowed momentarily, sensing the dismissing tone in her father's voice.
"I will ride along the north beach. There will be less people." She steered her steed and descended the stone stairs.
They needed a private moment, she thought.
No. Her father needed a private moment with Éomer.
Yes, he did need a private conference with the King of Rohan.
Imrahil watched until his youngest child touched the shore and turned back to the Rohír who frowned.
"Is it safe for her to ride along without guards?"
There was obvious concern and question in Éomer's voice.
Imrahil threw him a look, before opening a small wooden gate that led to the private garden. "May I remind you that she does not carry the title of a princess. Therefore, she has no guards, Éomer."
That stirred some tightness around the young king's jaws but he said nothing. Imrahil could tell that he was not pleased.
They climbed up a set of short stairs and came in front of a craved statue. Imrahil stood silent in front of the marble figure. Éomer just looked at it. It was not too old, not as ancient as the great door of Minas Tirith but it aged enough that it could have stood there for a good few years.
Imrahil continued to watch the young man's reaction as flash of surprise and realisation struck the Horse-lord. He must have seen and detected the similarity and familiarity. After a few moments, Éomer closed his eyes and gave a polite bow to it.
"They look very much alike. Striking resemblance," Éomer remarked without turning to Imrahil.
Imrahil smiled, quite impressed. "Yes, they do. Lothíriel inherits much of her mother's appearance and virtues."
"She is beautiful. How… did she…"
The question went unfinished but Imrahil knew exactly what Éomer wanted to ask.
"Illness took her. So young, and wilful but dead before her time. It is never fair when someone you love dies too young. She was only at her thirty-seventh summer when she left us. Her story had just begun but death just tore all the pages away. Sometimes I wonder how she would be like if she were alive. Yes, I do miss her…" Unable to breathe out the regret in his voice, Imrahil squeezed a weak grin. "…but life goes on."
They resumed their stroll and reached a small pavilion. Imrahil did not miss the surprise expression on Éomer's face when he saw a set of board game was laid on a wooden table.
"I thought we could spend some time in peace. I've heard from Amrothos that you are good at this." He deliberately cast a challenge look at Éomer.
The doubtful frown returned to the young Horse-lord. But he said no more and proceeded with the wish of Imrahil.
The game was progressing very slowly. Imrahil wanted to make it clear that he did not invite Éomer to share a board game but to talk. The conversation looped around life in Rohan but soon took a drastic turn.
"Could you possibly explain why Lothíriel is speaking Sindarin now, given that she lost that linguisticability since she was shocked to mute for the two years after her mother passed away? It has been almost nine years ago since I last heard her speaking our Elvish tongue. She spoke her last Sindarin word on the night my wife died."
Imrahil sat back and crossed his arms.
Éomer seemed taken aback by the sudden change in the subject.
So it began.
"She refused to say anything to me when I asked," Imrahil pushed when he did not get immediate response from the young Rohír.
"I did not know. She did mention that she had a dream about her mother when she was unconscious. And when she woke up from that dream, she found herself her ability to converse in her Elvish tongue had returned."
"Why was she unconscious? How had it come to that? What has actually happened between you and my daughter, Éomer?" Imrahil switched out of his friend role and slipped back as the father of his daughter. His voice was commanding and demanding.
His eyes darkened and he turned to stare at Éomer when their conversation unfolded the Dunlending incident. Struggled to keep himself calm, his fingers curled into fists and his knuckles whitened, Imrahil could not deny he was angry with Éomer for putting his child as risk but he must, too, admit Lothíriel held significant responsibility for her own action. It was painful to hear it all, knowing there was nothing he could do about it or to lessen the damage.
"So, that was how I found her. I am deeply and truly sorry that your daughter has suffered in my hands. I've failed you and your trust in me," Éomer admitted stiffly, grimacing at his own words.
Imrahil saw both guilt and regret float in the emerald eyes of the young man.
"I don't think you could ever repair the damage, Éomer."
His voice came out colder than he thought.
"That is why I am here." Éomer stared back at him defiantly.
"What else do you think you can offer?"
"I am asking your permission to marry your daughter, Imrahil," Éomer declared brusquely.
That came out as honest and as blunt as it could be. He was expecting this, was he not? Imrahil asked himself. He thought he was prepared when the question was raised but it still hit him. He had tried to test the young man's patience, with excessive formality and obstructing any opportunities that he might be able to remain alone with his daughter and Éomer knew exactly how to deliver it when the time came.
"I'm impressed that you still have the courage to ask." But he was not going to play it easy with Éomer.
"Only cowards dare not ask what belong to them." Came another surprising answer.
"Are you implying that she belongs to you?" Imrahil arched an eyebrow. The conversation was getting more interesting than he initially imagined.
"Her heart at least," the Horse-lord declared with unhidden confidence in his voice.
"Do you love her?"
Imrahil knew the answer but he wanted to hear it from the man himself.
"I do," his answer was prompt. And he added on second thought almost immediately, "very much."
Imrahil regarded the man in front of him with another long weighing look. Confident, proud and defiant. The look in his eyes warned Imrahil clearly that he would not back down. But he would not push for an immediate answer from Imrahil either.
Imrahil could but smiled. "You really amaze me, Éomer."
"I am just trying to follow what my heart seeks." His tone was softer now, less threatening than just moments ago.
Laughing, Imrahil stood up and peered over the blue horizon. He felt a heavy weight had just been lifted off his shoulders.
"On the day, she was born. I knew it that I'd wished to be there for her forever, to watch her grow. She used to have that innocent look that would steal every heart away. I've spent my life watching her running, jumping, shouting and calling out my name. Then when she lost her smiles, I had always prayed that she would find you someday. I knew the first time I saw you with her that it was only a matter of time."
At this point, the Prince of Dol Amroth let out a sigh.
"A matter of time?"
"On the coronation day of King Elessar, when I saw you both dancing in the hall. There was this very brief moment that you both were looking at each other's face. Just that moment that you were so absorbed that it left everything else absent in your presence. It was not so obvious at the time, even for both of you, but I knew it would come. And I am certain that now I should not stand in your way."
Imrahil tapped his fingers lightly on the stone beam and continued, "How could that beautiful woman standing next to you on the deck yesterday be the same freckled face that I knew? The one that I've read tales to. The one whom I've tucked in bed all those nights. The one who cried so loud on her first pony ride." He turned around and stood in front of the blond man.
His voice was sharp but Imrahil could not help it.
"But I loved her first. I held her first when she was born. I heard her first laugh. She gave me her first smile. I had been the only man in her life until she met you. I was enough for her. She still means everything to me, so love her like you would love nobody else!"
The young King rose to his feet and responded with an eager nod of promise.
Even so it was still hard for Imrahil. He had always held a very empowering sense of fatherhood ever since Lothíriel was born. It was still painful to finally admit that another man would replace him and take care of his daughter.
"Now she spreads her wings and flies. But nothing could ever shadow the bond that I share with her. She is and will always be my princess, Éomer! Be careful when you hold her."
"You have my word, Imrahil."
Imrahil breathed a relief. But it was still too easy for this young man to claim his daughter. He had a final question in mind. If Éomer got it right, Imrahil would have considered them betrothed immediately.
"One final question, Éomer." He studied the young man again, for a moment; he hesitated thinking it would be harsh but then seeing the confidence radiating from Éomer, Imrahil decided to adhere to his final test.
"Would you still marry Lothíriel if she is not able to bear children?"
Shock flashed across Éomer's face but it disappeared as quickly as it appeared.
"Yes!" No hesitation, no reluctance in the young man's answer at all.
"Very well." Imrahil gestured at him to return to the hall. "There is something else I want to show you."
Éomer watched as Imrahil limped on his walking stick. His mind was still racing and his heart pounding when the Imrahil's last question haunted his thoughts.
Lothíriel was not able to bear children?
A cold passed his spine.
The question - it was hard, most impossible to answer. His palms were damp with cold sweat. The ruling of the Riddermark was all about heir. It might not seem too important now but if what Imrahil said was true, what should he do? Asking the cousins of his two remaining aunts? Would that work?
He knew the logical answer to Imrahil's question would be a No. But his heart told him otherwise hence his prompt answer came without second thought. Any woman could have bore him a child. But he did not love any woman. He wanted Lothíriel. And learning the fact that she was not able to produce an heir deeply pained him.
Why did it have to be so cruel? Did Lothíriel know about this?
He found the frown sitting between his brows grow deeper as he followed Imrahil back to the hall. They walked past the hallway into a small aisle and entered a room with pieces of scattered papers and parchments. Imrahil had dismissed his guards and locked the door behind them.
"Do you recognise these?" Imrahil paced around heaps of papers and pointed at some with his walking stick. "And these?"
Éomer leaned forward and picked up a few pieces. His eyes flew open as he studied them. They were all incomplete sketches or half torn drawings of a man with a helmet that a crest of horsetail flew above. The lines went only as far as the helmet, the armour and down to the horse. There were attempts at drafting out the facial feature but judging from the frustrated lines and torn pages, Lothíriel failed to produce anything that was satisfactory.
"She told me she lost a chest of her drawings. I never thought it was such a significant matter until I saw these."
Éomer just stood wordlessly as Imrahil continued.
"They are all drawings of you. The only man on the Middle-earth with a tail-horse upon his helm! For some reason, she did not manage to draw your face with perfection. I've heard her cursing, tearing away her effort and shouting at herself."
Éomer closed his eyes and listened.
"You will not find another woman who will love you as much as she does."
"I know, Imrahil!" he snapped out, tired of Imrahil's attempts to test his sincerity.
"Good. Perhaps there is one more thing that you could do for me." With that the Prince of Dol Amroth released himself from his walking stick and moved around the room.
Éomer was completely perplexed, not only that Imrahil appeared to be completely fine but also he was pretending to be disabled all this time.
"IMRAHIL!"
"Wait before you shoot any accusation, Éomer!" He lifted a hand to stop Éomer from continuing and retrieved a dart from a pocket. "Someone tried to shoot one of my guards with this, just two weeks ago. As far as I can remember, this is not of Easterling-make or Umbarian. It does not come close to any of the arrows I have seen on Pelennor Fields."
Éomer gasped a breath as he took the dart from Imrahil. It was of rough make, not fine work but still sharp enough to deliver a fatal shot.
"Dunlendish." He returned his gaze to Imrahil, still disbelieved at the cruel fact.
"Then it seems some of my fellow Belfalasians have dealings with Dunlendings. Evil dealings very likely."
There was a concern look in Imrahil's eyes that Éomer did not like. But he ought to find out what actually happened in Dol Amroth. What drove Lothíriel to leave him so suddenly.
"And your leg?"
"About three months ago, I fell ill. I became quite sick actually. Maybe Valar has mercy on me; both my daughters-in-law are practised healers. They recognised my symptoms immediately and formulated an anti-dote. I made full recovery. But knowing that our unseen enemies will not give up, I decided it was wise to cloak myself to stall more time so that I could find out their plot."
"Did anyone know about this?"
"No. Not my sons. Definitely not Lothíriel. Even my daughters-in-law believed the poison did have a permanent effect on me." Imrahil walked closer to Éomer and stared into his hardened gaze. "To trick your enemy, you must first trick your friends and family. If those closest to you believe it, there is no doubt that your enemy will definitely fall for it as well."
"Have you found out who did this to you, Imrahil?"
"Not exactly. But the list of those who really want me and my family dead is fairly short, Éomer. And right now I do not know who I can trust anymore. Moral is a slipping stone nowadays. Why do you think Lothíriel brought the silverware all the way from Minas Tirith? Why do you think we are having this conversation here not at the pavilion? I am sure you have some confidence in your guess."
Éomer knew. Imrahil was suspecting there were spies. There were people whom the Prince once trusted now might turn against him. The merchant. The maid. A few names crossed Éomer's mind but he dared not draw any conclusion too early.
"Have you detected any attempt lately?"
"A few aimed at my sons. But none lately, not since we swapped every daily tool to silver, there has not been any indication of poison until the failed shot at my guard. I would like to pursue this further but my hands are bound here."
The quelling storm in Dol Amroth was more threatening than Éomer initially anticipated. The rising pressure in his chest stifled him further. Why would a Dunlending try to harm the Prince of Dol Amroth? Could it be the outlaws that he missed when he rescued Lothíriel? He did kill the henchman but there was no sign of the outlaw chief.
"Dunland is not so far from the Riddermark, if you allow me to take this matter in my own hands. I will investigate. There are some loose ends that I need to tie."
"Then Dol Amroth is once again in your debt," the old Gondorian bowed.
Now, judging from Imrahil's tone, there was no doubt that the Lord of Belfalas had this plan in mind, instead of begging for help, he managed to twitch it around and make Éomer step in to aid. He had heard Aragorn praising the Prince being incredibly wise. Now he believed every word of it even more.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up and saw Imrahil stood with a stony expression. "And when I said that Lothíriel being unable to bear children…"
A smile broke across Imrahil's face and he gave Éomer a hard squeeze. "…it was a lie."
Instantly, the tightness that had been clutching his chest released and vanished, Éomer glanced at the older man in a wave of awe and disbelief.
One says experience is the best teacher. Despite having fought and won countless battles, Éomer felt like a new recruit in front of the grey-haired Gondorian man.
Imrahil seemed satisfied with his work. Smiling again, he tapped Éomer a few times. "And you should really talk to Lothíriel about your offer. She will decide for herself."
"You think she would decline?" Now he seriously had doubt about his ability at reading people since it had just been proven that he failed miserably.
"Then make your best effort so that she can't."
Imrahil grabbed his walking stick and slipped back into his crimpled act. He wrapped his arm around the shoulders of the still stunned young Rohír. "By the way, there is an invitation to a sparring tournament tomorrow afternoon."
"Sparring tournament?"
"Yes. And you should not be surprised. The invitation comes from the Guild of Tradesmen. It looks like Saewon and his son won't let anyone off the hook."
While Éomer spent the rest of the afternoon trying to get over the various events in the morning, time went passed like wind and before he knew it, Imrahil sent a man to remind him at that he needed to attend the festive tonight.
Éomer blew a disapproving breath, knowing that he could not escape the social conference again and wondering at the same time how he should asked the question. He was not a man of many words. He did not have a capable tongue or know any flourished speech. As he took his time to formulate his approach, the sky drew the evening veil. The party had started.
The guests started pouring into the Great Hall of Dol Amroth. Neatly arranged seats were taken up quickly. Laughters of proud parents and their children drowned the hard effort of the minstrels and harpers. Her father smiled at her as Lothíriel entered. The smile on his face was something tonight. Her father had not had that smile for many years. He let out another loud laugh as he shared a word with a tall, blond man standing next to him. When her father shifted his glance to her, Éomer turned.
Lothíriel found her breath stalled.
Dimples flashing, the King of Rohan grinned, shooting a sparkling of aura into the room. He wore his royal finery. The dark green cloak draped from his broad shoulders. His charisma took immediate effect, some noble young women nearby let out pearls of giggles.
Her father moved to her side. She threaded her arm through his, allowing him to lead her closer to the standing cluster of Horse-lords.
He placed a palm at her shoulder, urging her to move closer.
"Good evening, my Lords."
She opened her mouth, but her voice came out not as loud as she wished.
"Lothíriel, I wish that you sit next to me tonight. What say you?"
"I will be pleased, Father."
"And you, my friend, will you sit on my right?"
Éomer acknowledged Imrahil's request by lifting his wine glass.
She could tell there was this renewed bliss in her father's voice. The formality she sensed when the Rohirrim first arrived had disappeared.
The viols stopped and her eldest brother, Elphir announced that everyone to be seated and that dinner would begin soon.
Lothírel swallowed, hoping the blockage in her throat would go away. She never felt this nervous. Not only that Éomer's endlessly emerald irises were locked on her but also having her father in between them while they sat facing each other was the last thing she wished.
Her stomach, still knotted, did not allow her to digest dinner. She ate very little. Every time she lifted her gaze—to pat the linen napkin at her lips or take a sip of water—Éomer's intense gaze pinned her to her seat. Nerves tied her muscles into unresponsive bundles.
She did not even know what was being said, only catching scattered sentences that lingered about breeding horses.
As plates being taken away and desserts made their ends on the dining tables, Imrahil set down his cup, gesturing his firm chin at a birchwood harp. "Lothíriel, would you play a song for our guests?"
Her lips pulled back into a stiff smile. She leaned forward, frowning. "Father, you know I have not played harp for many years. And besides, there are so many good harpers here tonight. I don't wish to embarrass you or myself!"
"You should have more confidence in yourself, young lady! Go and show us!" Imrahil's face gleamed, ignoring her protest.
A dense silence followed as the whole table waited for her to obey her father's wish. Lothíriel was sure her pounding heart could be heard over the thickening air. It was very unlike of her father to push her out in the public. Right now, she felt no more like a fish splayed on a work top for vivisecting by a novice.
She bit her lip, laying down a spoon. She rose on to her feet and forced herself to walk over to the dais where the musical instruments sat. She did not understand her father at all tonight.
She greeted the fellow musicians with a weak smile and exchanged a few words. She breathed some air and took a seat behind a large harp. There was only one ballad that she was certain it would not embarrass her father.
She looked up as she adjusted her posture, and saw Éomer's curious gaze skipped from her father to her.
She lowered her head and returned her attention onto the harp in front of her.
Her fingers were shaky but she forced herself to calm her breathing. Deep breaths rolled in and out until she had the courage to lift a finger and trace the array of strings. In spite of fears, the melody echoed inside, crying out from within the core of her soul. The notes like memory, billowing, wave after wave, it shocked her that she could still remember them so well.
The tunes drowned all the chattering. The harmonious strain flowing under her fingers sent the hall silent. She had not been this enthused with harps since her mother passed away. Each cell within her bubbled and burst with mingle of joy, remembered grieve and nostalgia, of relief from the overbearing attention focused on her.
Fighting back the memory, she pulled a last chord to finish her note. She shifted her gaze and looked ahead. Some old serving maids stood still, stunned by her performance. She could understand why – that song had not been played in Dol Amroth for very long time. She broke an embarrassingly weak grin and gestured at her fellow musicians to continue the entertainment. She hurried to meet her father who was walking toward her with Éomer next to him.
"I did not know you still remember that song, Lothíriel."
There was a hint of bitter sadness in his voice.
"How could I forget, Father? It is Mother's song."
She breathed out and settled her sweeping gaze back on the two men in front of her. For the first time, she thought she saw true glitter in her father's eyes. He took her hands and extended them to Éomer. "I am sure King Éomer would appreciate your company tonight."
Her eyes flashed immediately back to her father. He just gestured at the guests behind who had flown onto the dance floor.
"Enjoy your evening." Imrahil gave a brief nod and left.
He was letting them alone? Lothíriel frowned, chewing her lip, puzzled by her father's action.
"Should we?" Éomer started toward her, his gait as confident as ever.
Still stunned, she let him take the lead and swayed their way through other dancing pairs.
"Why are you so nervous? You were not yesterday on the ship or this morning."
She felt his strong arm wrap around her waist, locking her in his iron grip.
"I don't know."
The memory of their first dance in Minas Tirith came back rushing like old stories. So similar. Was it that time she fell for him?
"Are you not well?"
"No."
His piercing gaze was so tight on her face, she had to look away. His burning touch on her back sent a fluttering through her spine. It had been long since they were such close proximity with each other.
As her eyes swept across the room, she recognised some people that she never wished to see again – Saewon and his son, Glavror.
Exactly the same when she was in Minas Tirith. She hated them. She was almost certain it was impossible for them not to have any connection with the attempted poisoning of her family.
She missed her steps and her whole body stiffened up. She could feel she was dragging her feet along. Her trembling fingers dug into the hardened leather of Éomer's shoulder plates.
"I am here, Lothíriel. They cannot do anything to you." A rich and dark voice rang above her.
She tried to focus on her steps and blinked away the anxiety but her effort bore no fruit. Her teeth were grinding and her jaws were so tight that they hurt her.
"Follow me," he said again with a more reassuring tone. He led them away from the crowd and to the outer balcony where some of the Riders were. They shifted a little further away when they spotted the pair.
He released her from his clasp and let her catch some air to replenish the aggravated depletion in her lungs.
She grabbed on a balustrade to calm her bated breaths.
"Why didn't you tell me about Dol Amroth? About what happened to your father and your family?"
She turned around swiftly. Surprised that he knew about it.
"Imrahil told me everything this morning." He took a step closer. "I would have been able to help."
"How? Gondor has already owed too much of Rohan! Far beyond what we could repay for the next thousands of years!"
She looked away, setting her gaze on the dark, silent ocean.
"But this is not about Gondor! This is about you and your family."
"And you have done more than enough, offering me a roof for all those months."
"Is it not too heavy to bear all these alone? Having to live every day with nobody to share your burden?"
"It is." Admitting, she turned around, resting her back against a beam, "it has been too tiring to stay alert all the times, not knowing whom to trust, not being able to tell between friends and foes. I am heart-broken to see greed corrupting every corner of Dol Amroth. It is my home and I can't save her!"
"That is why I am here. I will help you and your father. You don't have to fight this battle alone!" He slipped out of Westron and replied in Rohirric.
"Have you not heard me? The Riddermark has done her fair share in helping Gondor. And you should not been here! You should be back in Edoras, tending your people-" She followed his suit and resumed their conversation in his tongue. He did not belong here. As much as she wanted to see him, Dol Amroth was dangerous. She feared for him. If someone could try to poison her father, what else could they do to the Horse-lords?
"Lothíriel, could you just stop and listen to me for a moment?" He cut her off harshly, knowing she won't stop if he did not insist.
Startled by his loud voice, she just stood quietly and nodded. She watched as he bit his lip and rubbed his temple as if he did not know where to begin.
"I am not as iterated as your father or your brothers. I spent all my life in the plains with no lavish stronghold or tall marble keep. I am a rough man who devotes most of his time to horses. I am used to horseflies and muck, not tidy and clean like your countrymen. I am loud, grumpy, scruffy, unkempt and not always polite. I don't come from the high society like the Men of Gondor. I don't know any flowery words but I know all I want is…"
Lothíriel was confused at Éomer who backed and stopped inches away from her in the midst of his long strange self statement and the last unfinished line. She saw the frustration that lingered in his eyes. She moved a little closer, studying him. What was with him tonight? As odd as her father had been. What had they actually talked about in the morning?
"What do you want? What is it?" She probed.
"...is..."
"Is what?" She asked again. It was unusual to see Éomer being so tongue-tied and doubtful in his speech.
"…is never to leave you."
For a moment, she could not speak. Listening to the echo in her head, feeling waves of emotion lightly stroking her heart, she moved backward and looked at him wide-eyed.
He stepped closer to her and took her hands in his, staring at her. His voice rang again in her ears.
"I cannot offer you luxury or huge ford, but I can give you a land of grazing where men, women, children and horses roam free, where the grasses stay green even in winter. Will you return to feed the horses, to take care of the children, to cook in the kitchen, to collect chicken eggs, to harvest the hay or to thatch the roof? Life has never been easy in the Riddermark. The weather is harsh and the wind is cold. There are no fish or ships. No charming sea. Would you still want to go back and spend your life there, with me… as nothing else but…the Lady of the King, the Queen of the Riddermark… as my wife?"
The last three words came out soft, slow and clear. They were roaring and rewinding in her ears.
This was unexpected.
Her breathing was out of rhythm. A sour lump stirred in her throat. The corners of her lips twitched uncontrollably and moist crept silently into her eyes. She lifted a hand to touch his bearded face. Tenderness and fondness leaked between her fingers.
"I am a not princess, I don't ne…"she lifted a hand to her mouth as the rest of her words were lost in her throat. She lowered her head hoping to gain some control over herself but couldn't.
She still gasped involuntarily. Chills continued to run up and down her spine. There was trail of tingling around her eyes, her head, and the back of her neck but at the same time a quick flow of warmth gushed out from within her.
"You may not be a princess but you are the queen of my people." His finger slid beneath her chin, pushing it up gently and forcing her to look at him as he spoke again, "Lothíriel, you complete me."
The floodgates crashed open.
She buried herself in his chest, wrapping her arms around him as tight as it could be.
"Ye..s...I..." Weeps turned into silent sobs.
This was a moment of surreal, of timelessness that drew her out of the world-driven thoughts. She forgot all the hesitations and fear; she cared not about discretion or composure. Everything felt so serene and transformed.
She had finally found her own safe harbour.
TBC
The Rohirrims' reaction.
The sparring tournament.
Lothíriel's first test at protecting her men.
Footnotes:
The geographical feature of Dol Amroth is based upon the Cliff of Moher, Welsh shores and various castles/fords in UK.
Ospreys, puffins and piew waterfowls: They are all British seabirds.
Dried plum: A sweet and salty snack in China (which probably dated back to years prior to B.C.) consumed to suppress nausea effect among travel-sickies and pregnant women.
Silver: (metal, Ag)Used in ancient Chinese and Korean dynasties as a tool to detect poison, mainly arsenic sulphuric.
Amor Vincit Omnia (latin) literally means Love Conquers All.
As pointed out by one of my long time reader, the songs that have helped me to shape this chapter (which also make me teary) are:
1. I Loved Her First (by American country band, Heartland) - one of the best father/son-in-law song.
2. Who'd You Be Today (by American country artist, Kenney Chesney) - a song to remember those that are gone from our lives
Once again a big thank you to all the reviewers and readers! This is a long chapter (over 10k words!)! I won't be updating for another week or so as I really have alot to finish in real life! I hope you all find this chapter more rewarding than ever. Do leave any reviews even if it is just about my spelling or grammatical error!
*tips hat and bows*