Chapter 13
Dol Amroth
November 3016
Her heart was beating a tattoo in her chest, Lothíriel stood on the upper deck, watching Dol Amroth get closer and closer. They had been at sea for just over a week and and the previous night she glimpsed the silhouette of the castle against the beautiful expanse of sky and stars. As she continued to stare towards her home, she willed the winds and the seas to carry them on their way quickly. She was ready to be home. She was ready to see her family again.
"The journey goes by so fast in the beginning, but the moment that you see your home, every second drags, does it not my lady?" Captain Sigbert's rumbling voice sounded behind Lothíriel. She turned away from distant city.
"I watch and am afraid that we will never reach it. It still seems so far." Her voice could not hide her trembling anxiety.
"Nonsense, my lady. If these winds keep up, we should be entering port before dusk tonight. I'd venture to say that you'll be home in time for supper." He crossed his arms when he saw no change in her expression he added, "If I may, my lady, there is a saying that I have grown quite fond of. 'Patience is not simply the ability to wait – it's how we behave while we're waiting.' Time will always go on, so we must always wait for something, but we can control how we act when we're waiting. If you continue to sit and stare, hoping to see Dol Amroth get closer each moment, I cannot stop you, but it will only make the time last longer. Do something to distract yourself, and I guarantee you won't know where the time went." He bowed to Lothíriel and turned away before she could answer.
"That's the most he's spoken all at once in a long time, my lady!" Bergen, who must have been keeping from the captain's sight, said quietly so as not to be heard. "He must truly like you if he's being this talkative."
"That's the first time he's spoken to me at all without my brother present." Recalling the advice of the captain, Lothíriel asked, "Bergen, what do you do to distract yourself during the length of your journeys?" Bergen sheepishly looked down.
"Not to be rude, my lady, but I don't need any distractions. Captain's always got me doing a chore whether it's swabbing the deck or aiding the cook." He ran his fingers through his hair. "If anything, I try to keep from being too distracted."
Lothíriel sighed. "You must think me very spoiled to be asking for distractions when you're always working." When she looked at Bergen she didn't see any judgment on his face.
"My lady, we are all given our lots in life, and they all come with different difficulties and responsibilities." He smiled wistfully to himself. "That's what my mother used to tell me."
"She must be a very wonderful lady to have such wisdom." Then one of the words Bergen had used registered in her mind. "What do you mean, 'used to'?"
The smile faltered for a moment. "My mother was killed when I was but sixteen years." The sun, as if sensing the change in mood, darkened behind a cloud. "My mother came from Harad many years ago to make a better life for herself. Women in Harad tend to be treated very poorly unless you are among the elite, and even then, those women are considered property. When she smuggled herself out of the city, she sought the aid of a tradesman from Gondor. She would see him walking down the market every few months and eventually they became acquainted. When he saw how she lived, he offered her the ability to leave Harad. She agreed without a second thought and the tradesman began a plan to sneak her onto his ship and out to sea where she could be free.
"The two of them snuck from shadow to shadow, getting closer to the ship with each step. Once my mother's absence was noticed, her father had the alarm sounded and the two rushed forward towards the tradesman's ship. His crew, who had been warned of the plan beforehand, had prepared everything to leave. It was a miracle they were not caught during the mad run to his ship. As soon as they arrived however, the man heard noises behind him. Guards called out for him to halt, while my mother snuck into the hold of the ship and hid within a barrel of plums.
"The guards questioned the tradesman for a long time and even searched the ship for the runaway. My mother would tell me of how she held her breath in fear they would hear even that when they neared the barrel. They left the ship and searched through the rest of the town while the tradesman's crew began to cast off. While they were at sea, my mother, came to know the tradesman very well and they found they shared feelings of love. They married each other on that ship and made a child which turned out to be me. My father later died while out at sea and my mother never quite recovered so when she grew ill, her will to fight and live on wasn't strong enough." He sighed heavily. "And after she died and I was left all alone, the captain offered me a position on this ship."
Lothíriel reached forward and touched Bergen lightly on the arm. He looked at her face with surprise for a moment before smiling sadly to the princess. "I am sure she is proud of you for continuing on without her. I lost my mother before I even had the chance to know her. I can't imagine what it would be like to lose another parent." She let her hand fall. She would have continued but the captain's voice rang out from the helm.
"Bergen! There you are lad. Do I pay you to lounge about and talk to beautiful ladies all day?" Lothíriel didn't miss the hint of humor in his tone. Bergen's face changed from the bittersweet expression to one of professional positivity before bowing quickly to Lothíriel. "I apologize for taking up your time." As soon as he straightened he turned and rushed off to do whatever chore was needed doing.
"It was nothing," Lothíriel said to the man's back, even though she doubted he could hear her words. Thinking of the story that Bergen had been telling, she wandered into her cabin where Erchirion was busy reading one of the books Elrohir had given to him as a gift. When she took a seat next to him, he began to quietly read aloud.
Lothíriel was woken from her unexpected nap by someone shaking her slightly. She sat up slowly. She had not meant to fall asleep, but the combination of Erchirion's quiet, soothing voice as well as the rocking of the ship had been too much for her. She opened her eyes and saw Erchirion standing in front of her.
"What is it?" she asked sleepily. She looked out the window and saw the sky had begun to darken. Her ears picked up the sound of several voices she hadn't heard on the ship before. She jumped up, now fully awake. "Are we here?" Erchirion nodded, a smile on his face.
"Although we haven't fully come through the dock yet, we will have our feet back on Gondorian land very soon. I figured that you would not want to sleep through such an event." He looked affectionately at Lothíriel.
"Certainly not!" She began to run her hands over her hair. "Do I look alright? I don't want to look a mess when I see Father." All of her anxiety came rushing forward. "What if he's disappointed? What if I'm not good enough as I am now?" She continued mumbling her fears until Erchirion gently placed his hand on her shoulder.
"Lothíriel," his voice was quiet and soothing as he led her to the small mirror, "you look beautiful. Father will be so proud to see you when we arrive. Not only are you beautiful but you are talented and clever as well. I am sure that everyone will see you and find they care for you deeply."
"You don't think Father will send me away again?" Her anxiety had calmed somewhat, but the tone of nervousness hung in the air.
"I cannot claim to know the future, but I do not think he would desire it. And if he does try to, I will have words with him." Erchirion hugged her for a few long moments before letting her go. A single tear had fallen onto her cheek. He wiped it away tenderly with his thumb. "This is a happy day. Come," he took her hand and began out the door, "let's watch as the ship fully comes into the dock." Lothíriel nodded and followed her brother outside.
Edoras
November 3016
Éowyn stared out into the expanse of grass watching for any riders coming to or from Edoras. The cold wind blew past her but she seemed to feel nothing from it. It had been only a few weeks since her brother had arrived and departed at her request. She had hoped that at the sight of him their uncle would awaken at least a small amount from illness, but it was not to be. Each day he deteriorated more and more and Éowyn was forced to watch helplessly. She began to turn to walk back into the now gloomy hall of Meduseld when the faint sound of approaching horses pricked at her ears. Her eyes followed the sound and she saw Théodred and his éored thundering over the plains at a breakneck speed. Deciding to wait for them, she remained standing on the terrace outside.
She did not have to wait long. As they entered the city some of the men stayed in the lower-city amongst the people, greeting friends and family members while others followed their prince up to the stables. Théodred handed Brego's reigns to the stablehand who stood waiting just outside of the stables and began to march up the steps with purpose written on his face.
"Westu Théodred Hal," she barely had the words out of her mouth before he passed her. She hiked up her skirts and rushed to keep up with him. His face was a mask of anger and determination. That anger only grew when the two men standing in front of the entrance to Meduseld barred their way with their spears.
"I apologize for the inconvenience, my lord prince, but we have orders that there are no weapons to be allowed in the presence of the King." The guards face remained stoic but Éowyn knew he must have been sweating from anxiety. Théodred was normally one of the most cool and collected people Éowyn had ever met, but when he was angry, even Éomer knew he was not a force that could be matched.
"On whose orders?" growled Théodred so quietly he wouldn't have been heard had it not been as silent as the dead.
"Advisor Gríma, my lord." The guard shifted nervously.
"Now please remind me," Théodred's voice was steadily growing louder with each word, "because I must have forgotten, do I bow to advisor Gríma?"
"No, my lord, but-" the other guard pitched in. Théodred wheeled on the other guard with a snarl.
"No, I do not." Each word was exaggerated as if he were talking to a belligerent child. "The only person who I bow to is my father, your King. So unless my father gave you a direct order that I could not carry my weapons into the hall when I am calling upon my father, I suggest you allow me to pass." Both guards looked at each other unsteadily before removing their spears from Théodred's path. He threw the doors open and burst into the hall and continued on his march towards the throne where the shell of a man who used to be a great king occupied it.
Like a shadow, Gríma appeared at her uncle's side and stood with his chin held high, even though there was a look of fear hidden behind his eyes. Théodred bowed to his father dutifully and hailed him, with his éored echoing the hail behind him before he began speaking adamantly.
"Father, I summoned a company of riders from Edoras less than a month ago. I was assured they would arrive at all haste, but weeks passed with no riders and no news. It wasn't until a few days ago that less than a quarter of the men I required joined with me. When I asked them what could possibly have dwindled their numbers they told me that all but they were ordered to remain in Edoras. Now I have come for myself to see who gave that order." Éowyn watched as her uncle muttered something under his breath. Gríma bent down and listened intently before straightening again.
"The King ordered the men you were promised to stay here for the protection of this fine city. Something," he paused to lick his lips, "came up, my lord. He apologizes for any inconvenience."
"Inconvenience?" Théodred's voice echoed throughout the entire hall. "The riders who did arrive assured me it was by your order and that you used the name of the King in his state. Do not think to fool me with such careful excuses. A third of my men died unnecessarily due to the fact that our reinforcements never arrived in time. The only reason we all didn't die is due to the aid of Lord Erkenbrand. Those riders who died will never be able to see their families again. Never feel the wind rush past them as they ride a horse. Never feel the sun fall on their face."
"I'm sure their sacrifice was not in vain. Besides, by choosing the life of a rider, they must be prepared to die as a rider." Gríma's voice and face projected a look of duty, but the only feeling Éowyn could imagine from it was one of slime.
"What could a worm like you possibly know of sacrifice?" The prince's voice had dropped once again to that of a whisper. "You know nothing of the events taking place in the West-Mark. Those men would have survived had you not intervened. Next time you desire to contradict my orders, make sure they come directly from the King before you begin to use your forked tongue." Théodred bowed once more to his father before turning on his heel and stormed out of Meduseld and back down to the stables.
Éowyn rushed after him only to see him already mounted on his horse. He called out for his riders to follow him and began winding his way out of the city. Within minutes, Éowyn was left standing on the terrace, staring out onto the plains as if Théodred had never been there.
It would have been so easy. Gríma fingered the handle of his dagger that he carried with him always. He could have just stepped forward and killed the prince. He was faster than people tended to anticipate. Perhaps it was because he was so small, or the fact that his face seemed to make others think he was sickly. Either way, he could have easily ended the prince's life in a matter of seconds. But that was not the plan. He needed to make sure that another misstep like the group of riders who defied orders and left for their prince and the aid of Lord Erkenbrand showing up did not happen again. The prince would die, but it wouldn't be at his own hand, unfortunately.
His mind shifted to the letter that had arrived from Gondor only four months past. It had held a proposition for the peoples of Rohan and Gondor to strengthen their bond through the marriage of the Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth and Prince Théodred. Gríma cursed under his breath. If only the letter had been delayed for another month or two and the King wouldn't have been well enough to agree to the match. The King had given his blessing for the match so long as the princess did not object. Gríma dared not hope for that outcome, as Théodred was heir to the throne of Rohan. And it wouldn't do for the two to be married and creating little heirs before he could be disposed of.
No, he couldn't stop the marriage from happening, but perhaps he could delay it. He knew that the Gondorians were a people who valued traditions over everything else. Perhaps he could convince them they needed to wait until she had reached a certain age before marrying as a Rohirric custom. And when he was questioned about why the engagement was so long by anyone from Rohan, he would simply state that the Steward had insisted on the length. He smiled to himself. Everything was falling into place. He would have time to come up with a strategy to get rid of Théodred and need not worry about having to figure out how to get away with killing a princess and babe.
He stared out of the open doorway to the silhouette of Éowyn in her typical white dress. Her long blond hair flowing with the wind behind her. Her soft pale skin begging to be touched. Gríma shook his head. Such thoughts were meant for private places where he could fantasize to his heart's content, and one day, they wouldn't be fantasies any longer, but cold, hard reality.
