Chapter 5

Rohan

Autumn 3009

Éomer felt like he had only been asleep for a few seconds when the attack came. With the efficiency that only a warrior who had been thrown into battle several times before, he flung on his gear and grabbed his sword, charging out of his tent to enter into the chaos. Bringing his sword up, he defended himself from an orc that came hurtling towards him while checking the rest of the camp for his charges. His eyes caught on Lothíriel's little frame standing in a long white nightgown, her hair braided down her back. Around her were several Swan-Knights as well as some of his Riders. His eyes scanned for Erchirion, but didn't spot him until he noticed the prince darting out of his tent, carrying a bundle in his arms. Éomer took a moment to process what it was, then it hit him – books. The idiot was risking his life to make sure his books would survive the night.

Who was this spoiled man to risk himself for some measly sheets of paper? Enraged, Éomer, lunged at the orc battling him, taking off the creature's head with one furious swipe of his sword. His anger fueled by worry for the princess, opponent after opponent met the same fate. Finally, after what felt like both moments and hours, the battle was over. Any orc they hadn't killed had run away where the darkness of the night hid them from sight. Éomer looked around the camp to assess the damage. He was relieved to see that only one man had been wounded and saw to it that he was tended to by one of the riders who had shown some talent at the art of healing. Seeing that generally all was well again, he let the fire of rage burn in him as he stomped towards the group where Princess Lothíriel and Prince Erchirion stood.

"That was unexpecte-" the prince started to say with a smile towards Éomer. The smile became a frown when he saw Éomer's face.

"Are you daft? Perhaps you only have half a brain." Éomer's shout was so loud the rest of the camp fell silent and turned to pay attention to him. "To think that someone who seemed as smart as you would go back for books in the midst of battle!"

"I didn't think-" Erchirion's voice was low but Éomer cut him off again.

"That's right you didn't think!" His rage kept him from showing any propriety he would have shown to the prince, "For someone to go traipsing after their precious books when they could have been helping others to defend themselves! Not to mention what would have happened if you were killed."

"I knew my sister would have been fine, but-" he still couldn't get a full thought in before Éomer cut into him again.

"If either of you had died while in our charge, every warrior here meant to protect you would have been disgraced. You would have shamed us all, not to mention leaving your sister all alone!"

This time, instead of Erchirion responding, the princess stepped forward slightly, "It's alright. Erchirion needs his books."

The rage blinded him as he turned in full force, "Stay out of it!" he growled. As soon as he saw the expression on her face change from the innocent trusting gaze, to one of fear as she backed away quickly, hiding behind one of her guards, he felt like a bucket of ice had been poured over his head. His rage that had felt so righteous and just only moments before drained out of him. He turned back to face Prince Erchirion and saw that it was his turn to be furious.

"My actions aside," started the prince, "you have no right to speak to my sister in such a way!" He gathered himself up as he stood to his full height. Although he was a head shorter than Éomer, he seemed to stand above him, pinning everyone around him with his gaze. "I shouldn't have to explain the worth of books, of the need to protect them with my very life to someone who only sees life from the hilt of his sword. You don't know anything of the world beyond that." He turned away and grabbing Lothíriel's wrist pulling her with him towards his tent. "You will stay away from me and my sister. You may apologize if you wish, but that is the only contact I want between the two of you!" With that, he entered the tent, cutting off any response. The rest of the camp stood staring at either Éomer or the tent in silence.


Lothíriel was pulled into the tent quickly by her brother. She had never seen her brother get so angry before. Elphir was normally the hothead of the family while Erchirion remained calm and logical. She had been woken in a hurry and carried to a group of other armed men when the attack had begun earlier that night. Circling around her, they were able to focus on fighting their enemies rather than whether an enemy was creeping up behind them. She had also heard the shouts of alarm as her brother began to run towards his tent, followed by two Swan-Knights. As quickly as the fight had begun, it was over, only now there lay the bodies of the dead scattered throughout the camp.

The blood and the stink made her retch, nearly causing her stomach to empty its contents. She was trying to hold onto her supper when the deep voice of Éomer filled the night air. It was so strong and commanding, Lothíriel was able to focus on it to keep her upset stomach in check. She began to move forward until she was by her brother's side. She noticed that Éomer was yelling at her brother about going after his books. When Lothíriel tried to help by pointing out that Erchirion's books were very valuable and had important information, Éomer had turned his anger towards her. She had not expected him to round on her, and she could see the burning hot anger there. It was so strong and powerful she decided that she did not ever want to be on the receiving end of his anger again and had moved away, hiding her embarrassment and fear of him.

That was when her brother had gathered himself and began to berate Éomer. He did not wait for any response from the rider, but had ended the conversation by leaving. Lothíriel looked up to her brother who was still holding onto her wrist with such force it was beginning to ache. "Erchirion," she called his name softly. She tried to pry his fingers off of her arm. "You're hurting me." He looked down at her and stared at her for a few moments before dropping her wrist with a quick apology. He took a seat on the cot and put his head in between his hands.

"Which book was it?" She took a seat next to her brother and began to gently rub his back. She knew he had to have initially gone back for one in particular before remembering to grab some of the other important books. Without a word, he held out a small blue book with a silver binding. Lothíriel understood as soon as she saw it. Carefully she took it from Erchirion and opened it with slow, precise movements. Although, she had never met her mother, she knew from Erchirion, that this book was their mother's favorite. Each page was filled with poems or songs. Erchirion almost always carried it with him and Lothíriel would see him leafing through it whenever he was having difficulties with one of his scholarly quests. If it had been destroyed, it would be as if a piece of their mother had been destroyed along with it. After a few moments Erchirion sat back up and placed his hands on his lap.

Placing the book back into her brother's waiting hands. She saw his eyes had turned red from unshed tears and when he spoke, his voice was rough. "I couldn't risk it. If I did nothing, and anything had happened to destroy this book, I couldn't have lived with myself." He turned his gaze away from Lothíriel. "I have so little of her left. Everyday, it seems like my memories of her fade and become less and less real. The only thing I have left of her that I can always count on to be real is this book." Lothíriel reached over and held onto her brother's hand. She felt it would be wrong to mention that the only memories she had of her mother were from a time when she was too young to truly remember anything aside from her dreams of a gentle touch or quiet lullaby.

"I understand," her voice was barely above a whisper. She saw the building tears in Erchirion's eyes begin to spill over. "I understand." She repeated as she reached around and hugged her brother as her own tears began to fall.


The next morning Éomer looked up to the sky. It was not the light blue that it had been yesterday, but had turned gray with heavy rain clouds. Elfhelm had gone through all of their goods after the attack the previous night and found that most of the food except for the salted meats that the Gondorians brought had been undamaged. The dried meat they had would last them until they reached Edoras. Turning his attention to the goings on of the camp, he saw that the tents were beginning to be packed up. Walking swiftly next to one of the riders from his éored he offered his help taking down one of the larger tents. From the corner of his eye he saw that Lothíriel had exited her tent, being closely followed by the two guards who seemed to be her constant shadow. His gaze followed her as she walked slowly through the camp towards the horses. She offered her mount a few sliced apples before taking out the same brush she had used the night before when she had collapsed. As he watched, he noted how close the guards stood next to their princess.

Possibly feeling his gaze on her, she turned and their eyes connected. She smiled timidly at him and began to wave until her brother came towards her. He saw which way she was looking and glared at Éomer with a dark scowl on his face before whispering something to Lothíriel. The smile vanished and she nodded to her older brother. After a few moments of uneasy silence between the two she was helped onto her horse who had been saddled by one of the guards. Seeing that the camp was all packed around him, Éomer strode towards Firestorm and quickly prepared him for the day's ride. As he mounted Firestorm the first drops of rain fell from the sky. Sighing to himself, he took out his cloak and swiftly pulled the hood over his head before the rain began to truly fall in what seemed like a waterfall. As they rode towards Edoras and his family, he prayed that the rest of their journey would be uneventful.


After nearly ten days in the saddle, Lothíriel had her first sighting of the Golden Hall. Erchirion had read about it previously and it was described at a distance as seeming to be on fire when the sun was setting. Lothíriel understood that now. As she looked at it, she had to remind herself that it was merely the sun being reflected off the golden thatched roof. Erchirion smiled and pulled out one of the journals he had brought with him and began to sketch the hall from where he was on the saddle. Elfhelm let them take it in for a few moments before paying heed to the shouts of his riders to gallop home.

As their horses rushed towards the city that was so different from Minas Tirith but beautiful all the same, Lothíriel felt comfort in how alive Edoras felt. Once they had entered the city, many stable hands made themselves known and a few of them rushed forwards and greeted the riders as fathers and friends. Lothíriel smiled quietly and saw out of the corner of her eye that Éomer was leading his horse up the hill himself.

She had tried to explain to Erchirion how he was being unreasonable to not allow any contact between the two when Éomer was the nephew of the King. She also explained that he had not only been unreasonable towards him, for Éomer was only trying to keep them both safe, as well as she had not been truly offended when he had shouted at her. By all rights, if it had been their father scolding anyone and she had interjected herself as she did, he would have shouted at her too. Erchirion had not listened to her reasoning. He was stubborn.

Deciding that she would not allow her brother to taint any relations with the King, she lead her own horse after Éomer. If Erchirion was not going to apologize for not making it clear why that one book was so important to him as well as apologize, she had to. She stood at the entrance to the stables for a few moments, collecting herself. She told herself that he would not be angry today because today he had returned home. Checking behind her to see that her brother did not see her entering the stables, she took a step forward.

Immediately her nose filled with the smell of horse and sweat and rich earth. She smiled. No matter where she went, stables always were the same in smell at least. But these stables were ornate as befitting a land where horses played such an important role, the woodwork was decorated with intricate carvings of horses, warriors and emblems of Rohan. Interchanging colors of red, green and gold bordered the stalls. Blankets for the horses had been woven in the same colors. Everything seemed so bright and alive that Lothíriel felt she was more at home here than she had ever been in either Dol Amroth or Minas Tirith. She saw an empty stall near her and swiftly led Hazelfal into it.

"I wouldn't put your horse there if I were you." The deep voice was the same as she had expected. Turning she smiled at Éomer and bowed for a moment.

"I have come to apologize to you on behalf of my brother. He should not have shouted at you and should have made it clear to you the importance of the book he went back for." She straightened and saw a wry smile on his lips. He shook his head for a moment.

"Even if he had, my temper was far gone when I confronted him in the first place. I was the one in the wrong. And no matter what, you didn't do anything wrong at all, and I shouted at you." Lothíriel felt relief flood into her as she heard his words. He chuckled before gesturing back to the stall where Hazelfal was standing. "I meant it about moving your horse. It is where my sister's horse resides and she does not take to intruders very well." Hastily she led her horse out away from the empty stall and followed Éomer to another that was closer to where his own was.

"Are you happy to be home?" She looked at him for a few moments. He nodded and ran his fingers through his hair.

"It is very beautiful here." She noted his look of surprise. "Minas Tirith is beautiful as well, but in the same way a tomb is coldly beautiful. You can not stay there all the time or you become cold like it." She smiled sadly. He opened his mouth to respond but before a sound could be made, there was activity at the entrance to the stables. Both Éomer and Lothíriel turned, forgetting their conversation when they saw Erchirion standing there. His face showed cold anger as he saw both his sister and Éomer. He strode forward and grabbed Lothíriel's arm in a vice like grip. She gasped in pain as his grip tightened.

"Did I not instruct," his voice was low, but around him there was no sound except for that of swishing tails, "that you were to stay away from my sister?" Éomer folded his arms over his chest and gazed down at her brother for a few moments.

"I was only apologizing to her, as you had made it very clear was allowed." No longer did a smile play on his lips. Nor did amusement fill his eyes. Lothíriel felt sad to see the smile they had been sharing fade. Finally pulling her arm out of her brother's grasp she stepped in front of him. He went to reach for her again but she evaded him.

"And I was apologizing to him for you." She saw the flash in her brother's eyes and continued before he had a chance to speak. "Éomer has made it very clear that he admits to being in the wrong, but that still gave you no right to ban his presence. He is the nephew to the King of a country in which we are guests!" As her voice rose, so did her anger towards his stubbornness. "If the situation had been reversed and he and his sister had been in Dol Amroth, would you tolerate the amount of disrespect that you have shown him?"

She saw understanding and pride both in Erchirion's eyes as he looked up at Éomer. "I admit that I was wrong to ban you from contact with my sister. Perhaps I overreacted." His face hardened for a moment. "But I still do not like you."

"And what, pray tell, is wrong with my brother?"