Chapter 22
Minas Tirith
April 3019
Éomer stood, rooted to the spot as he stared in disbelief at the woman who he had seen in the House of Healing. Now that she was no longer covered in the grime and blood of the injured, he could see she bore a strange resemblance to the young girl who he had mistaken to be a boy that first day on the plains. As he took in her feminine figure and poise, he doubted he – or anyone for that matter – would be making the same mistake in the future. Her name came to his mind as if he had only heard it moments before and as he spoke, the ability to move was restored to his limbs.
"Lady Lothíriel," he bowed low and took her hand gently. It was incredibly soft and her nails, though short were clean and uniformly rounded, nothing like his sister's who had been training with a sword, among other weapons, for many years. He brushed his lips across her fingers before allowing her arm to drop back to her sides. When he straightened, the two locked gazes and Éomer was once again under her spell. After a few moments of silence, the sound of Amrothos clearing his throat along with a stifled chuckle made Lothíriel turn her attention away, her cheeks turning a lovely shade of red.
"Amrothos," her voice quivered slightly as she spoke to her brother, "since you've returned I think I should inform Father and Elphir that you've, err," she pause, eyeing Éomer for a second time, "returned." With that, she rushed out of sight and Éomer let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. How was it that the sight of a single woman could leave him behaving as though he had never before stood in the presence of the fairer sex?
"I see that you know my sister." Amrothos was leaning against a wall casually with a half smile playing at his lips. "Though I figured as much after seeing the gaze between the two of you after the battle in the House of Healing weeks ago." He straightened and clapped Éomer on the shoulder jovially. "Though I think I ought to warn you to keep your stares to yourself in my father and eldest brother's company. Neither of them are quite as understanding as I am." Éomer could only nod, dumbstruck as he was guided into the great hall and planted into a seat. He had only been sitting for a minute or two when the two princes of Dol Amroth strode confidently in, followed closely by the princess.
"King Éomer!" Imrahil boomed in greeting, "How magnificent to see you once again! I trust you and your sister are well? Please tell me you've come to join us in taking our meal." Éomer caught the surprised look coming from Lothíriel and thought it best to decline, but before he could Amrothos stepped forward.
"Of course he has. We made an acquaintance with each other shortly after the battle of the Pelennor Fields and when I saw him in the House of Healing today, I simply knew it was fate to run into him again and thought it best to come for dinner before Elphir left." Amrothos gave Éomer a smile and wink.
"So long as it isn't too much trouble." At Éomer's words, Imrahil's smile widened and he shook his head vigorously.
"Certainly not, my friend. After you saved not only my life, but the life of my son within weeks of each other, nothing is too much trouble." Imrahil led Éomer to a large table and watched while Amrothos settled Lothíriel at the left side of the head before taking a seat beside her. Elphir sat across from Amrothos and Éomer was directed to the seat that was across from Lothíriel and to the right of Imrahil. As Éomer sat, he caught Lothíriel watching him but as soon as he looked at her more directly, she moved her gaze to her eldest brother. Once Imrahil took his seat, servants entered carrying five silver bowls with a delicately painted blue trim, each filled with a thick soup.
"So, King Éomer," Amrothos began, "you were among the riders who helped to escort my sister across Rohan, is that correct?" Lothíriel's face was guarded by an expression that was akin to a stone statue. "I simply am wondering how you two had become acquainted before coming here."
"I was a part of the éored that escorted her, though I was surprised to see how much she's changed in the past years." He smiled warmly and turned his attention to Lothíriel directly. "I actually was made aware that you were living in the city when I spoke to Éowyn after my return. She was very glad you came to see her." He decided it would be best to keep to himself that when Éowyn had told him, he had no idea that Lothíriel and the enchanting healer woman would be one in the same.
"I was glad to see her healing after such a difficult battle." The quiver in her voice had lessened from earlier but no one besides Éomer seemed to take notice. "And I was glad to see her again." Her gaze was locked with Éomer's until she let out a small cough and focused on the soup placed in front of her.
The rest of the meal continued in a similar fashion and while the event in whole was pleasant, Éomer could tell that Lothíriel was uncomfortable. After the meal had concluded, Lothíriel had excused herself and left before anyone could stop her. Éomer remained for a while, but as conversations calmed, Amrothos approached him.
"You should go see my sister before the night is out." His voice was low enough that neither Imrahil nor Elphir would overhear them.
"Surely not," Éomer replied just as quietly, "seeing as she seemed to want nothing to do with me this evening."
"I have watched my sister ever since she was forced to remain here by my late uncle, and never has she seemed this alive. I think it was good for her that you came tonight. Not to mention that I don't think I have ever seen her look at a man the way she stared at you after the battle of the Pelennor Fields." Éomer turned his head to look at Amrothos directly.
"It wasn't an accident that you bumped into me that day, or that you invited me to dine with you, was it?" Something about how Amrothos smiled indicated that Éomer had guessed correctly.
"All I will say is this. Even after my father held multiple balls to help my sister find a man who could hold her heart, let alone her hand, I have never seen her blush or even been so struck before. You made her nervous and if you intend to do anything about it," his voice lowered even more, "I suggest you take a small tour of our gardens." He smiled and winked before walking over to Elphir.
Éomer watched the pair for a few moments and thought over Amrothos' words. Surely he was mistaken, he thought, but, on the chance that he wasn't. "I think I should get some fresh air. Lord Imrahil, would you be opposed if I stepped out to your gardens?" Imrahil shook his head before calling for a servant to lead him to the doorway that led outside.
It didn't take him long to locate Lothíriel. With the full moon overhead, the open garden seemed as well lit as if the sun were shining. She stood with her back to him, facing out towards the plains that quickly became rolling hills and then a mountain range in the distance. One of her black curls had come out of place and Lothíriel was wrapping it loosely around her finger then letting it fall off before beginning the process anew.
"My lady," his voice was low. Lothíriel, having been unaware of his presence, jumped and turned in one motion. As she did, one of her feet caught on the train of her dress and she began to fall backwards against the lip of the wall. With the fluidity of his years of training, he caught hold of her and pulled her away from the edge, though he seemed to have overestimated his strength for he pulled with such might that Lothíriel then came tumbling forward to where she landed against Éomer's chest, bringing him down onto the grass with her on top of him.
"I-I apologize King Éomer," She scrambled to stand but as Éomer lay in the grass, laughter overcame him. Lothíriel's face began to redden. "What's so funny?"
Éomer forced himself to hold his laughter, but as he answered, he couldn't help from letting out a few chuckles. "That is the second time in just about as many weeks that I have been nearly thrown to the ground by a member of your family." He hesitated, "Although, I suppose you could say this was a successful topple." He laughed some more.
Lothíriel crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her lips slightly. "Well it wasn't my fault! You startled me!" Her indignant tone did nothing to calm the return of Éomer's roaring laughter and Lothíriel seemed to be fighting the urge to smile as she looked down at him. Finally he calmed himself enough to stand in front of the indignant princess and bow gallantly.
"My deepest apologize, my lady." He took her arm and led her to a nearby stone bench under a willow tree. "I'm afraid I was a bit too eager to keep you from tumbling off the walls and to your death," his tone was good-naturedly mocking and finally Lothíriel let out a small smile.
"I suppose you're right. Thank you, my lord King." She bowed her head in deference.
"If it's alright with you," Éomer's smile became more warm and inviting, just as he would to a young and uncertain foal, "perhaps you could drop the use of the 'king' title. We became friends before I had any title besides Rider of Rohan." It seemed to have the desired effect as Lothíriel visibly relaxed. As she gazed around the quiet garden, she pointed out a bright red flower.
"Ever since I came to live in Minas Tirith," she dropped her hand and a somber look passed over her face. "seeing the dahlia flowers have always reminded me of Rohan." Éomer studied the flower's color and found that it was indeed the same shade of red that was used in many of the tapestries within Meduseld.
"You have an excellent memory." His voice was low. "Apparently unlike myself. I am somewhat ashamed to say that I did not recognize you when I first saw you."
"Nor did I," Lothíriel's voice grew lower and Éomer could barely make out her next words, "or the multiple times I had seen you after." There was a short pause before she cleared her throat and turned to look at him directly. Her voice was still low, but much more clear. "I am sorry for the loss of your uncle and cousin."
"Thank you." His reaction came out as rehearsed as it felt. Ever since the battle on the Pelennor Fields, condolences for his uncle had become so common that he no longer felt the sting at the mention of his loss. Then it struck him that she had also mentioned Théodred's death. He was about to ask her how she knew of his passing since he had died more than a month before the battle when the sound of approaching footsteps came from out of view. Instinctively, he stood, placing himself between the newcomer and Lothíriel. He had no weapon but felt confident enough that with Prince Imrahil's home so close, Lothíriel would be safe enough.
He felt himself relax when he saw that it was Amrothos. Seeing the way Éomer was standing gave him a moment of pause before a smile spread across his face. "I suppose you do not trust the abilities of Dol Amroth and Gondor beyond to keep my little sister from harm?" Éomer chuckled and ran his fingers through his hair at the prince's words.
"I suppose if you had spent as many years as I have believing that every unseen sound and unannounced presence was an enemy, you would react in a similar manner." As Éomer spoke, he reached his hand down, helping Lothíriel to stand.
"Unfortunately," Amrothos came closer, "I seem to be the bearer of bad news. Someone from the King's stables has come to ask that you go with him at once as there is an issue with your horse."
"Of course." Éomer began taking his long strides before facing round from the other end of the garden and bowing to Lothíriel. "Lady Lothíriel, I hope that I will be able to see you again soon." He saw her nod with a small, intimate smile.
Lothíriel watched Éomer disappear around the corner moments after straightening from his bow. She waited until the sound of his footsteps had disappeared before sinking back down onto the same bench she had been sitting on with him. She caught Amrothos watching her with a knowing look and felt a blush color her cheeks.
"What?" Her voice was louder than she had meant for it to be. She repeated her question more quietly, "Amrothos, what is it?"
He took a seat beside her where Éomer had been sitting moments before. "I think you like him." Amrothos' knowing look grew softer as he reached out and touched her arm. "There is no shame in it, little sister."
"No shame?" she sighed, "Certainly, there is no shame in pursuing the very kin of the man I was meant to marry not even two months after his death. The very same man who is meant to inherit the very same title into which I would have been married had Théodred lived." She put her head into her hands. "And who knows what Éomer would think about my disloyalty to his cousin." A sinking feeling filled her and she wanted nothing more than to run away from her the pounding in her heart.
"You never loved Théodred, and I remember how you told me of how Uncle Denethor had forced you into that engagement. Surely you cannot be blamed for finally feeling love towards a man." He put his arm around Lothíriel's shoulders, drawing her into his warmth. "I know you, sister. And you are not disloyal. In fact, you are probably one of the most loyal people I have ever known. And you've been unhappy for such a long time. Don't you think you deserve some happiness?"
"But what about when my happiness can cause others, perhaps even the one I may love, pain?" Lothíriel whispered.
"If I know love," Amrothos' voice was just as quiet as Lothíriel's but it was also just as clear as the night's sky, "and I believe I do after watching not only Elphir and Meira for a great deal of my life, but also from the times that mother's have held their newborns or husbands had been with their wives in the House of Healing. Unless it is left unrequited, it can do nothing but bring joy to the people involved."
Lothíriel turned her head back to gaze once more on the dahlia flowers that reminded her of Rohan. As she gazed at them, the pressure on her heart lifted and she remembered the way that Éomer had laughed as well as the gentle look in his deep, blue eyes as they had spoken. She had never thought that love at first sight was real, but each moment that she thought of Éomer, she wondered at how wrong she had been to not believe in its existence.
Na'man turned his focus away from Minas Tirith and studied the encampment around him. Most of the men who had been injured had either succumbed to them or healed and he knew that he could not linger outside of the White City any longer. He needed to return to his palace in Târêt before his absence was taken advantage of by anyone who would think to claim the throne that was his by blood right.
Taking one of his daggers from his hip he held the dark, naked blade up. The nearby fire glinted off its surface and as each of the men turned to pay attention to their leader a still silence surrounded them. Once there was no noise outside of the crackling of the fire, Na'man turned back to Minas Tirith.
"I swear on all of the gods," the cold blade met the flesh of his palm and he cut ceremonially, "I will return and take what is mine within this city. The Oracle who belongs in Harad will not be allowed to escape the next time I come for her." His voice came out like the hiss of a snake, but he knew his words were heard by every single member of the camp. When he turned back to face them he held the bloodied dagger out so the bright red could be seen against the black metal.
