Chapter 24
Minas Tirith
May 3019
Lothíriel felt the cold water running over her hands as she scrubbed away the sweat and grime from her busy day in the House of Healing. Most of the injured warriors had completely healed, but due to the large numbers of wounded and sick following the war, many herbs and resources had been depleted. Lothíriel, as well as a few other healers-in-training were tasked with going through the herb gardens. It was long work, but she knew it was necessary, for although the war had ended, people still became ill and injured while working to renew the city. A knock on the door behind her sounded and she called out for them to enter.
"Little sister, ever the hard worker." A familiar voice said softly. Lothíriel whirled around, excited to face her unexpected guest.
"Erchirion!" She ran forward and hugged her brother. "What are you doing here?"
"Well, with Elphir at home, I was no longer needed to run Dol Amroth, and thought it was high time I came to see you." He kissed her lightly on the cheek. "I also am looking forward to seeing our new king. It has been some time since I saw him last since he hadn't returned to Rivendell before we left."
"Well, you'll have the chance tonight. The coronation ball is supposedly going to be very grand. Nearly every noble is here to be officially recognized." She took a seat beside the window. "But what news of Meira and Dol Amroth?"
Erchirion sat beside her, his smile growing wider. "Meira delivered a little girl a few days before I left Dol Amroth. And the city itself has been left untouched from corsairs and the like. Father was right to install the Beleg Gwî when he did, for it has done its job very well in deterring anyone unwelcome from trying to sail into our bay. Because of that as well, our crop fields have been left alone and we will be able to aid those who are in need of grain and the like from the Orc attacks before the winter comes."
"I am glad that we will be able to be of aid." She returned to the scrubbing of her hands.
"I know my excuse for not attending the actual coronation was due to poor luck and winds, thus my late arrival in general, but when father mentioned that you decided to work rather than go, I must admit to some surprise." He paused, "Are you alright?"
Lothíriel smiled to herself at how perceptive Erchirion had always been with her. "I'm fine." She discovered that although Erchirion had always been her greatest confidant – mostly because she had spent so much time in his company while they lived with the elves – she did not want to discuss her feelings about Éomer with him. "The work in the House of Healing takes priority. I am certain that if anyone understands that, it is King Elessar, seeing as he was raised by Lord Elrond."
Erchirion let out a soft sigh, "I see your meaning." He came up behind her and kissed the top of her head gently. "Well, I'm glad that you'll be going to the ball. I must see to it I am properly bathed for such an event." He chuckled to himself before striding out of the room.
Éomer stood in the midst of the great hall of Merethond as music and quiet conversation filled the air. Across the room was Aragorn, formally known now as King Elessar, along with his sister and her new betrothed. Éomer liked Faramir – he had a soothing presence and seemed to always know the right thing to say to calm Éowyn whenever her temper began to show. Seeing the couple standing so close, Éomer's mind began to drift towards Lothíriel.
They had hardly seen each other since their last encounter, for he had been incredibly busy making sure the remaining orcs and other enemies were being hunted down, while she always seemed to be busy with some task in the House of Healing. Éowyn had gone down to help her on occasion, though he wondered at how helpful his warrior-like sister had been. She would come back wreathed in smiles with news of her friend and Éomer hated that he envied her for the time the two women had shared. His musings were cut short as a group of giggling ladies passed by, each giving him knowing looks, hoping to be invited into a conversation. When he did not, most of them continued on their way, but one hung back.
"King Éomer," she fanned herself delicately, "it is such a shame that you have been left all alone when such a merry event is taking place." She smiled at him and continued speaking. He half listened and eventually found himself considering the differences between this woman and Lothíriel. While the common look on Lothíriel's face was one of innocence, the lady before him was full of pride and a feeling of knowledge in things best left for dark corners and private quarters. Her smile offered things he knew of, though thought it best not to imagine. Another difference was that her face was painted and powdered so that it looked almost a deathly pale and her hair, which was a deep brown, was intricately piled on top of her head in a series of braids and pins. Éomer wondered if it was because of Lothíriel's time spent with the elves but Lothíriel almost always had most of her hair loose unless it was in a single braid running down the length of her back. It was one of the many things he liked about her.
"My lord?" The lady seemed to realize that he had not been listening. She couldn't hide the look of annoyance in her eyes. "Perhaps you are waiting for someone else?" Her mouth pinched with the bottom lip puckering out slightly in what was obviously meant to be attractive but only made Éomer think of a spoiled child.
Éomer thought about keeping the truth from the lady for a moment, but he was a man of the Mark and they were always honest. "I am."
"I see." She turned her face away from him puckering the bottom lip further. "And who, if I may ask, are you waiting for?" As if on cue, Prince Imrahil and Lothíriel entered the hall, followed by one of her brothers.
"The Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth." Éomer bowed swiftly to the lady before hastening off to greet the princess.
"It seems your brother and my cousin are causing quite the stir among the noblewomen here." Faramir's quiet voice called Éowyn and Aragorn's attention away from the conversation they were sharing with one of the Rohirrim who had joined the Gondorian festivities. They turned just in time to see Éomer bowing before Lothíriel's hand. Around them, nobles watched while several women worked to hide looks of irritation behind their fans and faked smiles. Éowyn smiled to herself.
"I think they would make a good match." Aragorn's voice was just as quiet as Faramir's had been. "I knew Lothíriel when she stayed in Rivendell and she has the temperament that should be able to calm the tumultuous rapids of Éomer's temper. And on the other hand, he has such a spirit that seems to have renewed life into Lothíriel. When I first met with her after arriving in this city, I could hardly tell she was the same person. Being in Minas Tirith seems to have taken a toll on her."
"But will they be able to discover their beneficial qualities within the constraints of the court?" Éowyn pursed her lips. "Everything in this country is so stiff. Nearly no one shows their true selves as they hide behind powders and fans. If this were Rohan, it would be settled before we had a chance to blink, but not here." She let out a heavy sigh.
"My dear," Faramir reached over and grasped her hand lightly, "we found each other, so surely it is not unbelievable that they might understand their own hearts as well as each other's before too long." With that, Faramir and Aragorn turned away and began discussing other things, though Éowyn paid them no mind. She simply stared at the couple as they interacted. As she watched, an idea formed.
Several of Rohan's women of the court that had traveled most of the way with the men before their race to Minas Tirith had arrived in time for the coronation. As such, the encampment that the Rohirrim had outside the city was full of enough people to stir up a few dances and songs. She had wanted Lothíriel to be able to experience a true celebration of Rohan and having Éomer there as well would no doubt raise the morale to a new height. Without a second thought, Éowyn stepped away from Faramir and Aragon and strode towards her brother and friend.
Lothíriel dismounted from the brown gelding she had taken from her father's stables and looked in amazement at the colorful display of tents that were pitched all around her. Some young men came forward and took the reins of her horse and those of her brothers before tethering them to a nearby hitch rope. A plethora of fair-haired men and women walked and talked in the hitching, guttural tones of Rohirric. Among them were a few Gondorians who had heard of the event and decided to attend. Further ahead, she could hear the plucking of stringed instruments accompanied by the trill of flutes as well as hearty laughter. As she wandered towards the center of the camp, she was readily greeted by many of the Rohirrim.
"The people of Rohan are certainly less reserved than that of Gondor." Amrothos' whisper was accompanied by a small smile. "I suppose that irritated Erchirion when he first traveled there."
"Among other things," Erchirion pursed his lips slightly before turning his gaze to Lothíriel. "How did you ever convince me that it was a good idea for me to come?"
"Oh hush," Lothíriel chided good-naturedly, "you will find someone or something to make the trip down worthwhile, of that I am certain." Before Erchirion or Amrothos could say anything in response, she spotted both Éowyn and Éomer standing together. She and her brothers were quickly spotted as well as a smile lit Éowyn's face.
"I thought you'd never arrive!" Éowyn shouted, drawing everyone's attention. She picked up her skirts and raced towards Lothíriel, stopping directly in front of her and embracing Lothíriel warmly. After letting Lothíriel go, she greeted the two princes and led them towards the inner circle where Éomer had remained. Once Lothíriel was close enough, he took Lothíriel's hand gently and brought her knuckles to his lips. Lothíriel could feel her face flushing as eyes watched her every move.
"I am so glad to see you once again." His eyes, which were warm and shimmered in the firelight, drew her in, allowing her to forget – at least a little bit – the attention that felt so embarrassing. The music that had stopped at Éowyn's outburst began to start slowly, recalling everyone to their earlier mood.
A large bonfire lit up the surrounding area so that it seemed as if the day hadn't ended even though the moon hung in the sky above them. The music picked up and many of the people partnered up and began to dance. The dance was not the stiff and formal promenade that was so common among the Gondorian balls, but instead the partners held each other closely so that it seemed as if it were not two separate people, but one combined person. Some of the Rohirrim that were not dancing clapped along with the music while others sang in their native tongue, giving the overall dance a jovial and spirited air.
"Now this is what I call a celebration!" Éowyn clapped and laughed. Lothíriel smiled, as the joyful feeling seemed to seep into her very bones. Erchirion stood at her side and watched coolly as he sipped from a cup one of the Rohir warriors had handed him. Amrothos – who had so often been called away from the balls and other celebrations due to his duties – had not fought as a young woman excitedly pulled him into a dance. Lothíriel tried hard not to laugh as Amrothos nearly stumbled over the young woman again and again. Eventually the song ended and Amrothos bowed deeply to his partner before returning to where Lothíriel and Erchirion stood.
"What fun!" Amrothos laughed. "I can't imagine many Gondorian nobles have enjoyed the excitement of dancing like a man of Rohan has." He clapped Erchirion on the shoulder. "You ought to try it brother. Perhaps then you will not seem so overcast."
"I dare say I should remain content watching you trip over you and your partner's feet instead of falling over my own." Erchirion sniffed.
"Then perhaps you, sister?" Amrothos turned towards Lothíriel and she could feel the her face heating.
"Don't be silly. I don't know any of the steps. I'd probably end up bruising my poor partner's toes or worse, topple them entirely."
"Éomer is a wonderful dancer," Éowyn chirped, "and he can handle any bruised toes you have in store." Lothíriel's gaze followed Éowyn's indication and stared up into his eyes.
"It would be an honor to introduce you to the way my people enjoy a celebration." He took Lothíriel's hand and began guiding her into the heart of dancers preparing for the next song. "Do not worry," he whispered, "just trust me and follow my lead and I won't let you look foolish."
The dance began slowly at first as low notes were plucked from taught strings. Lothíriel wondered if everyone could hear her racing heart as she was pulled into what could only be called an embrace and was guided to and fro. The high notes of flutes sounded and like the first summer rains. The dance suddenly quickened and Lothíriel's heart no longer beat in her chest due to any embarrassment, but it was because of the thrill of spinning at dizzying speeds and the quick steps that Éomer guided her expertly through. There was a simple joy in dancing with Éomer. Being pressed up against him. He stood so straight and tall he seemed as sturdy as an oak that would not be felled except under the greatest of effort preformed.
Un-beckoned, a laugh leapt from her throat which was joined by Éomer's own laughter. Although her heart beat wildly in her chest, she could also feel the rhythm of his marching in tandem with her. She let her eyes wander towards Éomer's face. Their eyes locked onto each other and nothing else seemed to exist outside of the music and themselves. They spun on and on and Lothíriel wondered if it would ever end, but at the same time, she wished it wouldn't.
Around and around they spun, seeing nothing and no one besides each other until, at long last, the music concluded. She continued to stare up into Éomer's face as she struggled to breath normally. A gentle breeze blew past Éomer and his scent wafted towards Lothíriel. It was an earthy smell – one that reminded her of the plains she had seen as a child – as well as coupled with the slight smell of a horse and leather though he wasn't wearing his leather armor. The mixture of smells, although very different from the smells of oils and soaps that the nobles of Gondor typically used, was very pleasant and slightly exotic and she wondered at why she had never noticed it before.
Without meaning to, her vision focused on his lips. They were surrounded by a beard that was only slightly darker than the golden hair atop his head. The hard line that they usually took had softened as he held her against him with a small smile turning up the corners. Before she even thought about what she was doing, she leaned up and touched her own lips to his.
