AN: Hello my fair readers, I am very sorry for the delay in posting this chapter, I'm never quite sure what is going to happen in my life before it happens... To my lovely reviewers: UntilNeverDawns, LalaithElerrina, Saren-Dipety, silverswath, naomihirshf, solar1, sandy-wmd and LittleNK (who are growing in number, yay!) may I say a huge thank you, thank you, thank you! I'm so tired that I can't even try to be witty, so I will keep to the point...
DISCLAIMER: None of this is mine. Deal with it.
The great hall of Minas Tirith was a riot of colour and music; a far cry from the room that saw the despair of the Steward just a few short weeks ago. Minstrels sat on a dais to the right of the throne and banners for each of the allied forces of the West hung proudly between the statues of Gondor's former kings.
It was a joyous celebration, but a formal one. The horselords of Rohan looked almost bemused as they surveyed the scene of polite courtiers making small talk and dancing sedate Sarabandes.
Lothíriel, who preferred not to dance, as she had in the past been most unfortunate with her partners, stood to the side of the hall exchanging pleasantries with various Lords and dignitaries. She smiled and was generally beguiling, but her heart was not in the task; she merely played this role to appease her father, who was standing not too far away. He was speaking to other generals, with whom he had fought, but every now and again he would glance over at his youngest child and smile approvingly when he saw her with an eligible lord.
Suddenly Lothíriel was brought out of her slight trance, when she heard a shrill female voice, Elphir's wife if she was not mistaken by the sound of it, calling for music of Dol Amroth. Inwardly Lothíriel cringed as the Lady called her over and begged of her to play.
There was no way that the princess could graciously refused, so with a sense of duty she took to the dais, accepting a harp from a servant. She looked carefully at the harp; it was well made indeed, the craftsmanship evident in the carvings and she could tell by the wood and strings that the instrument was designed to be particularly sonorous. She smiled; this would be fun.
A hush descended upon the hall as she took a breath, pausing, before she let the first strains of the melody fill the room.
An Elven-maid there was of old,
A shining star by day:
Her mantle white was hemmed with gold,
Her shoes of silver-grey.
A star was bound upon her brows,
A light was on her hair
As sun upon the golden boughs
In Lórien the fair.
Her hair was long, her limbs were white,
And fair she was and free;
And in the wind she went as light
As leaf of linden-tree.
Beside the falls of Nimrodel,
By water clear and cool,
Her voice as falling silver fell
Into the shining pool.
Where now she wanders none can tell,
In sunlight or in shade;
For lost of yore was Nimrodel
And in the mountains strayed.
The elven-ship in haven grey
Beneath the mountain-lee
Awaited her for many a day
Beside the roaring sea.
A wind by night in Northern lands
Arose, and loud it cried,
And drove the ship from elven-strands
Across the streaming tide.
When dawn came dim the land was lost,
The mountains sinking grey
Beyond the heaving waves that tossed
Their plumes of blinding spray.
Amroth beheld the fading shore
Now low beyond the swell,
And cursed the faithless ship that bore
Him far from Nimrodel.
Of old he was an Elven-king,
A lord of tree and glen,
When golden were the boughs in spring
In fair Lothlórien.
From helm to sea they saw him leap,
As arrow from the string,
And dive into water deep,
As mew upon the wing.
The wind was in his flowing hair,
The foam about him shone;
Afar they saw him strong and fair
Go riding like a swan.
But from the West has come no word,
And on the Hither Shore
No tidings Elven-folk have heard
Of Amroth evermore.
She had not been sure of her song choice, but this one was close to her heart, as she remembered her mother had often sung it in her presence. As the last resonance faded, she dared to look up and immediately caught the intense eyes of the King of Rohan. This was the second time on this day that this had occurred.
Lothíriel could detect the polite applause from the dignitaries within the hall, but momentarily she was stunned; never before had a man gazed upon her so. Immediately she blushed and, handing the beautiful harp to the waiting servant, she gathered up her skirts and made towards the side entrance to take some air.
Éomer had initially ignored whatever had been going on in the hall of Gondor; more interested in the conversation of his friends Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli; but the sound of an ethereal harp and a pure soprano voice caught his attention. Perhaps he should have known that a sound that touching could only have come from the fair princess that had caught his eye at the coronation, but nevertheless he remained enraptured throughout the song.
When it had finished he observed the girl leave the hall and he immediately turned to his companions.
"She is a fair lass, laddie, I'd go after her if I were you." Advised the dwarf, Gimli, with a knowing wink.
Legolas almost looked lost in a dream, when Éomer turned his gaze towards him. "It was an unusual song choice do you not think Legolas?"
"Yes, I know it well. Such a sad fate to befall any being, it reminds me to seize opportunities while I still might." The elf replied, somewhat pointedly. Aragorn laughed.
"Go my friend, seek out the maiden, the Valar know that after this trying time you are indeed in dire need of fairer company!"
Éomer smirked and took his leave of the group, heading towards the exit after the princess.
Lothíriel had walked out towards the long plinth that ran directly from the palace and jutted out over Minas Tirith towards Osgiliath. She rested her hands on the wall and gazed out towards the South, observing the stars as she would from the tower in Dol Amroth. Her mind was entirely peaceful, when she heard a slight cough behind her.
Immediately she spun, her dress flowing like a whirlwind about her, to face the disturber of her peace. She was surprised to see the King of Rohan.
"My Lord!" Lothíriel exclaimed, making a deep curtsey.
"Please, my lady, I did not mean to disturb you, and you may call me Éomer, for that is what my friends call me." Éomer responded with a slight bow. "You are the princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth?"
"Yes my Lord Éomer, you must know my father?"
"Prince Imrahil? Yes, he is a very honourable man, and formidable in battle."
"He is known to be formidable in most aspects of life!" The princess laughed, remembering several occasions where this statement had been correct with a certain fondness.
Éomer smiled, indeed it was hard not to smile around this maiden; she seemed to exude a certain zest for life that was refreshing after many hard years at war.
"May I enquire as to why you seek to leave the celebrations my lady Lothíriel?" He asked earnestly.
The princess blushed, for she knew that she could not tell the King her true reason for leaving the hall, but she told a half-truth, "I enjoy looking at the stars; they are a constant throughout many upheavals on Middle Earth. They vary, but always follow a set pattern. It reminds me that there is a greater force than all of us, that runs through this world and will remain still long after we have passed on to the next."
"You speak wisely my lady." Éomer responded thoughtfully, "I hear that you have spoken with my sister…"
Éomer's voice trailed off as he noticed the princess's gaze switch from him to something behind him. He turned as Prince Imrahil approached.
"Lothíriel, what are you doing out here? I expected to see you in the hall at all times!" He berated her, then turned towards Éomer with a slight bow, "My Lord Éomer, please excuse my daughter, she is young."
"There is nothing to excuse my friend, your daughter's company is indeed most hospitable." Éomer responded smoothly.
"Father, King Éomer was recounting your deeds in battle, and I needed air, I hope that you can forgive me." Lothíriel responded meekly, bowing her head.
Imrahil smiled, lifting his daughter's chin gently, "There is nothing to forgive my child; I was merely worried for you. Now we must take our leave of you my lord, the night is late and Lothíriel's brothers are preparing to leave."
With that the prince took Lothíriel's arm and began to lead her away. Éomer quickly called after the retreating pair, "I hope very much that I shall see you again soon my lady, may you return safely to your quarters!"
When Éomer was out of earshot, Imrahil spoke quietly to Lothíriel, "The King of Rohan is an honourable man, but he and his people have a manner that you are not accustomed to Lothíriel. Take care that you do not fall in love with him, as it is likely that he is just being polite, as he would with any girl from his kingdom."
"Yes father, I will take care." Replied Lothíriel. Though in her heart she already knew it was too late. Whether it was against her will or her father's, fate had set her on the path of falling in love with the horselord from Rohan.
AN: So they've finally met after all that delicious 'eyes meeting across the room' tension. Hehe. The song was "Lay of Nimrodel", look it up on Youtube, really worth a listen! Legolas sang some (or all? Not sure) of it to Frodo I believe. I hope you liked this, I think this was the chapter I was most dreading writing, which is probably why it is a little short, so please let me know what you think! Thanks a bunch :D
