Part 1: Lions
But once in a while the odd thing happens,
Once in a while the dream comes true,
And the whole pattern of life is altered,
Once in a while the moon turns blue.
- Julia Green
All warfare is based on deception. - Eldacar, King of Gondor, in "Art of War"
Chapter 1
April 3019 Third Age. Somewhere in the woods of Ithilien.
"I must have been mad when I agreed to do this", said Prince Amrothos for what had to be at least the fifth time ever since they had left Minas Tirith. However, his words did not have too much of an impression on his younger sister. She let out a snort and shifted in her saddle, wishing they would already reach the camp.
"Nonsense, brother. You were just as eager as myself to leave the city. I seem to recall that you were equally displeased for being left behind when the others rode for Morannon", Princess Lothíriel answered patiently.
"Yes, but I at least had Father's leave to be in Minas Tirith in the first place. You were never supposed to come along when our troops left to fight in war", Amrothos complained.
"And he must have been out of his mind when he thought I'd actually consent to staying back and twiddling my thumbs. He should know better than that", she informed him.
"Well, Father had sound logic, you have to admit that. Had Minas Tirith fallen, the duty of defending Dol Amroth would have been yours. He said himself he thought you'd have been of more use there", Amrothos pointed out.
"Brother, if Minas Tirith had fallen, there wouldn't have been much to defend. And you know precisely how frustrating it is to be left behind – you've been whining about it ever since the host left for the Black Gate. So don't moralise me, Amrothos", Lothíriel answered calmly.
He grumbled something half-audibly, and for a while the two siblings were left to riding in silence.
It had been a tumultuous time in the kingdom of Gondor. The darkening years had finally escalated into a battle of life and death and the signs of war were yet evident on the fields of Pelennor and in the White City itself. Minas Tirith had seen things great and terrible, but also the flicker of light: the ride of the Rohirrim and hope and friendship rekindled, and there was even talk of Isildur's Heir returning to claim the throne... but only few days before that fragile hope had been put to test yet again as the host of the West had ridden to the Black Gate of the Land of Shadow.
Father's face had been grave and dark when he had said goodbye to two of his youngest children. Elphir and Erchirion had gone with him; somehow, Erchirion had been able to smile even. Amrothos and Lothíriel had demanded to come along, but in this thing Father had been absolutely unmoving. So, after holding his daughter and son for one last time he had left, and the princess had feared he'd not return.
But the victory that had seemed so impossible had been achieved, and Middle-earth was at last free of the Dark Lord. The future was ahead and after so many years of fear and foreboding, it finally had hope.
Now Lothíriel and Amrothos were making their way to the Fields of Cormallen where the Lords of West had their camp. With them rode others from Minas Tirith who had been invited to join the party. As soon as word had come that the war was won and their family was safe, the two had made a single-minded decision: they'd ride for Cormallen to see their father and brothers. Father would probably not be delighted, but on the other hand he knew his two youngest children were capable of taking care of themselves and each other. Amrothos, however, seemed to currently think this disobedience would anger Father more than their mischief usually did.
"You know, none of this promises too good for you when we get back to Minas Tirith", he commented now. Being the erratic thing he was, Amrothos appeared to have forgotten about his concern for Father's reaction for the moment.
"Whatever do you mean, brother?" Lothíriel asked nonchalantly and gazed ahead, but instead of the hoped sight of the camp she only saw the woods and the backs of heads of other travellers.
"Well, it's quite obvious. All the nobility in the land are already on their way to the city. They'll want to see Isildur's Heir, and there will be great feasts and celebrations", Amrothos answered, shifting in the saddle and wearing a face that implied he at least looked forward to all that was to come.
"And? How is that a concern of mine?" she wondered out loud. Well, she'd probably attend a few of inevitable feasts, but it was more out of wanting to be a part, however small, of all these great things of late – or at least be able to see these legendary characters she had been hearing so much of lately. The events to come were not something likely to recur any time soon.
"You'll have to put aside your bow and your breeches. Try and appear like a real lady, that sort of thing. But the court will be bursting with noblewomen who actually handle it better than you do... and then there's the matter of unmarried kings..." he said, enjoying himself a bit too much for her tastes.
"You mean I should like to try and catch the eyes of those kings?" Lothíriel snorted. "Amrothos, are you insane?"
"Although even I have sometimes hard time believing it, you are a princess, sister", he pointed out. "I'm not sure about that Isildur's Heir – he's so old and all – but the King of the horselords..."
"What if I like old men?" Lothíriel chortled. She briefly considered pushing her brother from the saddle for starting such an inane topic. "What about the Rohirric King?"
"He's a pretty young man. Around Erchirion's age, I think. I'm no authority on that but I heard some kitchen maids giggling and whispering about him – they seem to think he's quite handsome", he answered and grinned at her.
"Brother, I don't think I ever asked you to find me a husband. And what do I care about this King's handsomeness? A man can be fair to look upon yet still have but air where his brain should be", Lothíriel said unaffectedly. "I don't want to be a queen anyway. Let someone else have the man. I'm sure there'll be plenty of enthusiastic candidates."
"I think you'd like him. They say he's a temperamental fellow, and I rather agree with that observation. I was present when he threatened to throw a healer out of window when they tried to make him leave his sister's bedside", said her brother. Lothíriel snorted.
"So you think I sympathise with throwing people out of windows? Thank you, brother", she scoffed, rolling her eyes.
"Don't act all sweet and innocent, sister. Throwing me out of window is hardly the worst thing you've threatened to do when you've been angry", Amrothos grinned. "See? You and the King of Rohan are practically made for each other!"
"Amrothos, if I need your opinions or your help in marital matters, I'll ask for it", Lothíriel groaned. Her brother could truly be one of the most annoying oafs sometimes.
"Still, you can rest assured there will be so many celebrations before all is said and done", he commented, "and I recommend you to be prepared for the possibility that Father has had the same idea about the Rohirric King."
The princess quickly looked at her brother, concern filling her heart. She very nearly fell from the saddle.
"What? Does he actually think it would be a good idea? Has he said something to you?" she demanded.
"No, he hasn't. But who knows what ideas he has got in the middle of all those lords about him?" Amrothos said and shrugged. But seeing her face, he gave her a comforting smile. "Don't worry, sister. Father would not make deals like that without your consent."
"He'd better not, or there will be more consequences than just people thrown out of windows", Lothíriel muttered.
"You're positively violent", Amrothos sniggered, but she glared at him.
"That's easy for you to say. You haven't spent years fearing and wondering to which lord Uncle will sell you and your womb", she said darkly, holding tighter to her reins then. This was one matter where her brothers had never quite understood her.
His expression became serious, however. Amrothos at least understood it a bit better than Elphir and Erchirion.
"Lothíriel, I-" he started, but she lifted a hand to interrupt him. This was not something she felt comfortable talking about.
"Forget it", she muttered and looked away.
They rode on for a while in silence, both in the middle of their thoughts. The company continued forward; the sun was setting and all were eager to reach their destination. Though the war had ended, there were still survivors from Mordor lurking in these parts. Not that either of the two siblings were really scared of orcs: Amrothos had his sword and Lothíriel carried a bow, and deep down the princess decided she'd have rather liked some action. That at least would have taken her mind off of unmarried kings and the fear that despite all Father had got ideas in his head about those kings.
After a while, she turned to look at her brother again, and started: "Amrothos, what do you think-"
However, Lothíriel never got the chance to finish that sentence, for all of a sudden there were sounds of alarm from ahead where the escort was making towards the camp. And then came fell voices of orcs and the clash of steel as a battle broke out.
The two children of Imrahil moved as if by one thought. Any other older brother might have demanded to go first, but Amrothos made way for his sister: she drew her bow and charged, and he came just after her a sword in hand.
"Mithrellas!"
And so Lothíriel rode, calling the name of her ancestress, and Amrothos rode just after her; she could see the battle ahead but felt no fear at the sight of this surviving band of orcs. Her bow sang as she rode and each arrow found its target with precision she had practised ever since she had been strong enough to draw the string the weapon. And what enemy she could not slay met death by Amrothos' sword, until the two of them were deep in the thickness of battle, and she lost sight of him...
But then there was a noise of hooves thundering, and men crying: "Eorlingas!"
Out of the shadows of the evening they came, as if riding out of a song of yore. Tall and fair-haired, riding horses unmatched in strength and speed, and looking just as fierce as tales had it, a band of Rohirric riders was now charging into the scene of the battle. On the front rode their leader, a fearsome dark-eyed man armed with tall spear and gazing ahead with the cool concentration of a seasoned warrior. The white horse-tail of his helmet flew in the wind as he came riding, and for a moment his concentration was broken: when he saw her. For the brief instance their eyes locked and she thought he looked surprised, even disbelieving.
However, Lothíriel had no time for staring at this man, impressive as he might be. She took down one more orc and then turned her steed to make way for the charging riders, lest she be on their way and was trampled to ground.
It did not take long for the newly arrived Rohirrim to finish off what was left of the orcs. To them, this battle probably counted as nothing more than a light practice. Lothíriel gathered the arrows she had shot and cast a look about to seek for Amrothos, and she quickly spotted him aiding with one injured man. Seeing her brother was unharmed she let out a breath she had not noticed holding.
She had just returned her arrows into her quiver when the man with the horse-tail helmet arrived. Riding a great grey stallion, and being a man of considerable size, he was quite a sight... and so was the blazing anger in his eyes.
"You!" he snapped, staring at Lothíriel with such intensity that indeed she must be the target of this anger, though she didn't know why.
"Me?" she shot back, lifting her eyebrows. Oh, she wouldn't have some rude brawler from North yell at her like this!
"What do you think you were doing?" he demanded to know, and judging by his tone one could have thought she had just tried to challenge a mûmak into a single battle.
"Oh, I was trying to grow myself a pair of wings and flutter away to West! What did it look like, you ruffian?" she answered loudly, glaring at him. This man was in no position at all to question her, though he certainly was under such impression. Were all Rohirrim so rude?
"I did not know Gondor had so emptied her lands that now weapons are forced even on women! What precisely had you thinking it would be all right to charge ahead like that?" he growled.
But now Lothíriel was outraged too. Who did this man think he was?!
"Excuse me! I was not forced to take up arms! I took them because I wanted, and it is no damned business of yours if I indeed do carry a bow! What kind of a moron are you to think you have any right to tell me what to do? Who do you think you are?" she yelled at him, her voice turning sharp and loud.
Her response seemed to surprise him, but his astonishment only lasted for a moment. Again his face turned into a fierce look that might have unsettled her in some other situation. That was, if Lothíriel herself had not been feeling so angry.
"Who do I think- oh, my dear rascal, you can believe I have every right to question insane woodland bandits who dash into a battle acting like it was child's play!" he snapped at her.
"I don't need you pampering me, you git! I am quite capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much, and I can assure you my father will hear about this!" she informed him icily.
That only seemed to fuel his fury, and he looked like he was about to speak up again and patronise her some more, but it was then that Lothíriel saw one last orc lurking in the shadows behind his horse. She didn't know if the creature were trying to get to this arrogant man – good riddance that would have been, really – or just to sneak away. Nevertheless, she pulled out one more arrow, took aim and shot the orc. For split second before the arrow had sprung from her bow there was a look on the Rohir's face like he thought she had just decided to kill him on the spot. But then her arrow hit the orc and the rider sharply turned to see the death groan of that creature. Though his frown didn't go anywhere, it somehow became amazed.
"Well, this insane woodland bandit may just very well have saved your life, though I must say that was a waste of a good arrow! I hope you fall off your horse!" Lothíriel announced as a parting comment and turned around, looking for her horse with her eyes.
"Wait!" she heard the man yelling after her but she didn't pay any attention to him. He called again, more forcibly this time: "I order you to stop!"
"And I order you to shut your big mouth before I put an arrow through it!" she snapped over her shoulder.
Now the man looked abashed though furious, and for a moment she was sure he'd ride her to the ground, but then one of the other riders approached him, talking fast in that strange language of theirs. This distracted the rude man long enough for Lothíriel to slip away from the scene. Oh, she'd so tell Father about this! Perhaps she could ask him to pull some strings and have the King of Rohan send this annoying fellow packing.
But as she was making her way up towards the front guard, Amrothos arrived riding. His wide-eyed expression immediately alarmed her that he had seen what had just taken place between her and the overbearing Rider.
"What? Did you come to preach to me about manners?" she asked, her annoyance lifting its head anew. "I swear, if you too are going to-"
"It's not that", he interrupted her, his voice faint. "Do you know who you just screamed at and threatened to kill?"
"Who cares? He was probably just some churl from North who thinks he can order me around just because he's big and has a loud voice", Lothíriel said nonchalantly.
A pained little smile came to Amrothos' face, and he gave her that look – the one her brothers always wore when they thought she might be insane.
"Oh, you should care, very much actually. It was the King of Rohan you were shrieking at, sister."
It took almost all the way to the camp on the Fields of Cormallen for Lothíriel to regain her composure and her ability to talk. Luckily the way was not long and as they travelled with front guard there was no chance of running into the King's Company again. Apparently they had stayed behind to scout the area and see to the disposal of bodies of the orcs.
When Amrothos had first announced the identity of the man Lothíriel had argued with, she had burst out laughing. She had thought he was joking. But the expression on his face remained dead serious, and at last it sunk in: she had horribly insulted the King of Rohan, a man famed for his honour and the leader of the horselords... the very people all Gondorians effectively owed their lives.
As soon as that realisation filled her Lothíriel had fallen mute, and she had ridden all the way to the camp in silence. Her brother appeared to understand she was in no mood for conversation, not yet at least. So he didn't speak either, but rode beside her in silence.
"All right, brother", she said at last, though her voice was wavering, "There is only one thing I know for sure and that is I can't meet that man again."
He looked sharply at her, lifting his eyebrows.
"Lothíriel, you know that's not an alternative. The King of Rohan is a friend of our father, and we're both members of high nobility. There's no way you can avoid meeting him, especially with all the celebrations ahead", he pointed out.
"But I have to! I can't meet him again, not right away at least! You said it yourself – he's friends with Father, and he would be so offended if he knew who I am! I can't ruin their friendship like that. And Father would be so disappointed with me if he heard, and he'd probably send me back to Dol Amroth in shackles!" Lothíriel exclaimed, her voice panicked.
"Then what do you suggest we do?" Amrothos asked. "Once Father hears you're here, there's no way you can hide from the Rohirric King. He'll insist you meet the man."
"Well, maybe he doesn't have to know I'm here – or make the obvious connection. I mean, if he didn't hear I'm here and didn't meet me. It was getting dark, so maybe he didn't get too good look on my face? Maybe all we need to do is for me to lay low for now, and get back to Minas Tirith and pretend I never left the city! By the time they come back he'll have forgotten about me!" Lothíriel said heatedly.
"We?" echoed her brother. "What do you mean, we?"
"Of course it's 'we'!" she told him in exasperation. "I need you to seek out the King when he returns to the camp and somehow lead him into thinking I'm just some crazy peasant or something like that. Otherwise he's bound to mention me to Father somehow, and you know what will happen then."
"You mean I should lie to King Éomer?" Amrothos asked, his eyes widening. The idea seemed to genuinely scare him.
"Yes! I know it's not pleasant, but we just need to distract him for the moment. He'll forget about it soon enough, I'm sure of it", she insisted. They were starting to get closer to the camp now, and she desperately needed her brother to comply.
"Sister, you did call him a moron and a git. I'm not sure he's going to forget about it so soon", he said doubtfully.
"Well, once we get back to Minas Tirith I'm going to act all princess-like, the way Aunt always insists I should, and this King will probably think I just happen to have a bloodthirsty, foul-mouthed twin roaming the woods of Ithilien", Lothíriel tried. She gripped her reins in her hands so tight they might have broken.
"That's not going to work", Amrothos pointed out. He sounded skeptical as ever.
"Of course not if you don't help me out!" she said in frustration. "Please, Amrothos! You're the only one who can help me!"
He groaned and looked like he'd have wanted to say no. But like always before, ever since they had been small children, he couldn't refuse her.
"All right, all right. What do you need me to do?" he asked, his voice that of someone who has just suffered a complete defeat.
"Fantastic! Brother, you are the best!" she squealed and gave him a beaming grin. "Now, this is how we'll do this..."
Night had already fallen when Éomer King of the Mark returned to the camp of the Host of the West. He and his men had scouted the woods for more orcs but none were found, and eventually he had decided they'd head back. Though war against Sauron was won and future held a promise of peace, there were still surviving bands of orcs roaming these lands. For the young king this was an agreeable thing, for he was finding it difficult to just sit down and enjoy the calm.
His life had mostly consisted of struggle and strife, and past few years it had only intensified. Indeed, war was the normal state of things for him and most days it was difficult to remember more peaceful times. And he was so angry, for being left with the burden of the throne and not knowing what he should do, and his cousin and uncle dying, and all the others leaving him and Éowyn alone... but now the war had ended and he had no idea of how to adjust to peace.
This evening had been everything but calm though, and when he rode with his men into the camp he was still thinking of the peculiar encounter back in the woods. A part of him had hard time believing it had even happened – he'd never have expected such conduct and language from a Gondorian woman – but the arrow she had left behind was the proof she had not been just some apparition. The way that strange rude woman had disappeared certainly made him feel like she had not been real.
Then again, it was most likely that she had made her way here, into this camp... perhaps he'd even encounter again. Éomer certainly wished he would, for he wasn't quite done with her. For one, he had to find out who she was and how she had such gall as to verbally attack the King of the Mark.
He pushed aside these thoughts as he dismounted and his esquire took away Firefoot. Prince Elphir approached him, and beside the man came Prince Amrothos. The young king had spotted Imrahil's youngest son in the escort but he had been too preoccupied to speak with him.
"Sire", greeted Elphir with a smile. Of Imrahil's sons he resembled the man most, though he had certain stiffness to his manners Éomer had not seen in the Prince. He had inherited the height and grey eyes of the descendants of Westernesse, which Amrothos had too, though he wasn't quite as tall. The youngest of the three had an easy smile and carefree countenance, which was likely the result of being youngest of three princes. Éomer knew these two men had a sister and had even heard she was in Minas Tirith, but he had yet to meet her.
"My lords", answered Éomer, nodding towards the two.
"The orcs have been taken care of? My brother already told me of the fight in the woods", Elphir said, falling to the side of the young king. These tall men of Dol Amroth were some of the few people who could keep up with his long stride.
"Aye. There were none left in the woods as far as we could see – not at least this close to the camp. But too many of them survived the Battle of the Black Gate, and I am sure that every dark nook and cranny in this part of the world is swarming with them", Éomer answered. All the more reason for insane young women to stay away from this place.
"If you keep hunting them with your men as diligently as my brother here reports, my lord, I believe there is a good chance you shall end up taking down them all single-handedly!" said Prince Amrothos and grinned, though Éomer thought he saw something forced about the expression. Before he could dwell on that, Elphir spoke again.
"Nonsense, Amrothos. You didn't see the lot of them at Morannon, and though King Éomer and his men have done most admirable job in guarding the camp and disposing of orcs, I have a feeling it will be years still before we can say orcs are not a threat anymore", said the older Prince quite rightly.
"I didn't see them at Morannon because Father wouldn't let me come along", Amrothos muttered sourly. But then his expression sobered and he looked at his brother again, "Speaking of him, Father had some business with you, brother. And I'd like to exchange couple of words with King Éomer."
"Of course", Elphir answered. He nodded at the Rohir and went along, leaving the two men alone. Éothain had fallen behind too to give them a bit of privacy. Idly Éomer thought his captain was taking this king business far more clear-headedly than anyone in his éored.
"I didn't yet have a chance of greeting you properly, my lord, or thanking you for appearing when you did. I'm not sure we were in any grave danger, but Rohirric war-cries are something I've learned to appreciate", Amrothos said then. This time there was nothing forced about his voice or expression, and the King thought perhaps he had been mistaken.
"It was my pleasure. In fact, I was in the need of a battle", he commented nonchalantly.
"In the need of a battle? Even now after the war?" Amrothos wondered out loud. They were making their way slowly towards the lodgings of the King; Éomer had the mind of making himself more presentable before seeking out Aragorn.
"Even now", he confirmed quietly. "It is not so easy to settle down when one has known little else than war for a long time."
"Of course. I beg your pardon", said the prince quickly. He was only few years younger than Éomer himself, but sometimes that was easy to forget. Indeed, this carefree young man could not have grown up in a more different world.
"It is all right. This also means I have quite a few rough edges..." said the Rohir. Éowyn certainly had made sure he knew that.
"Well, I don't mind them, Sire", Amrothos said anyway and grinned again. Speaking of rough edges...
"Prince Amrothos, did you happen to see that young woman who charged in the woods along with the men?" asked Éomer then, hoping perhaps he might know who she had been.
"Yes, I did", answered the prince, and Éomer quickly looked at him.
"Do you know who she was? And... is it common in Gondor for women to bear arms?" he asked.
"To be honest, there are some men in our land who have armed both their sons and daughters. Living under the threat of the Enemy has had that kind of effect in some cases... even on some lords. But I would not say it's common", Amrothos answered at length and looked away. "As for that woman, I can't tell for sure, as I didn't see her except from afar."
"You mean she could even be a noble lady?" Éomer asked in surprise. Though he came from a culture where women were not frowned upon for using the weapons of their men to defend themselves and their families, or for occasionally even riding to war, he certainly didn't expect the same in Gondor. What he had seen so far did not at least seem to imply that Gondorians would have treated well an armed woman.
"It's possible. I don't know. Maybe she was just some wild daughter of a local peasant, wanting to get a glimpse of all great lords and heroes gathered here", answered the prince. He was looking ahead and the young king couldn't really read his expression. Amrothos continued, "That would explain why she didn't know who you are, Sire. I heard how she shrieked at you."
That made Éomer wince. The stranger's unabashed nerve had truly taken him unawares: even in Rohan he had not heard any woman rage like she had.
"I was hoping perhaps you would have known who she was. I... I confess I was unfair with her. I should like to apologise to her", he confessed softly. Amrothos sharply turned his gaze at him, looking surprised.
"You would, my lord? But she insulted you!" he wondered out loud.
"That she did. Perhaps it was not completely without a base, though. Like I said, my treatment of her was unfair and rude", answered the King and shook his head.
"Perhaps you'll meet her again here in the camp", offered the younger man. The look in his eyes was for some reason more intent than Éomer would have expected; the matter couldn't have been too high a priority for him, after all.
"Are you certain you didn't recognise her?" he asked, studying Amrothos' face for any sign of dishonesty. But why should the prince have any reason to lie to him?
"Have you seen how many dark-haired women there are in Gondor? Even I can't tell them always apart", said the prince and shrugged dismissively.
Éomer would have asked more, but then Aragorn arrived striding; in his kingly outfit he was very different from the ragged Ranger he had first met on the plains of the Mark. It felt like that encounter had taken place years ago.
"My friend! Good to see you're back", said the older man with a smile. He took note of Amrothos as well, "I assume you're one of Imrahil's sons?"
"That is true, my king. I'm Prince Amrothos, youngest of the three", said the young man, bowing deep on the front of his liege lord. "It is an honour to finally meet you."
"Likewise. Your father has told me much of you, and of your sister Princess Lothíriel", said Aragorn.
"Hopefully good things", Amrothos chuckled, albeit a bit awkwardly. Éomer lifted an eyebrow, as he had not known Amrothos to shy anyone before.
"You know Éomer King already?" Aragorn inquired, looking from his fellow king back to the prince.
"We made each other's acquaintance back in Mundburg. He was visiting his cousin Lord Faramir in the Houses of Healing", said the Rohir. When he had not been busy with running things and managing his new position as the king, he had spent most of his free time with Éowyn. The sight of her there, badly wounded from the battle, had never failed to bring him a sense of guilt and regret.
Amrothos continued, "My lord, I hear it is you we owe our gratitude for saving Faramir. I am quite thankful for my own part."
"Do not mention it. It was the least I could do, and men like your cousin will be sorely needed in rebuilding this land", Aragorn said in that familiar modest way of his. Really, Éomer couldn't say if he had ever met anyone as dismissive of their own importance as this Heir of Isildur was.
"Still, all our kin is grateful. As is my sister, who is very fond of Faramir", said the prince. He then bowed his head at the two kings, "I'm afraid I must take my leave now. Good night to you, my lords!"
After bidding good night to the young man, the two men continued together forward, and Éomer told his friend of the patrol in the woods. At least this time Aragorn refrained making comments on how he should leave those for others, as there were many very qualified warriors in the camp.
It was late when he finally got into his own tent and lay down to rest... and unsurprisingly, his first and last thought were of a rude dark-haired woman, charging and shooting arrows in the light of waning day...
Who and how Amrothos had bullied in order to get a tent of his own, Lothíriel couldn't tell. Nevertheless it was located on the outskirts of the Amrothian fraction of the camp, and it was just large enough for the two of them for couple of nights.
As soon as she had convinced him to help her, they had agreed she ought to return to Minas Tirith as soon as she could and with as little noise as possible. That shouldn't be a problem as there was moderately often traffic between the camp and the city, mostly in the form of food wagons. It was truly astounding what amount of nourishment a camp this large required. Though large it was, both siblings concurred it would be safer for her to leave it quickly, lest she happened on the King of Rohan again and was forced to reveal her identity. And if Father got wind of it, there would be no point in hiding.
It was a disappointment to leave the camp so soon without a chance to really participate in all the celebrations and excitement that took place there, but more than entertainment Lothíriel wanted to remain anonymous to the Lord of the Mark... even despite what Amrothos said.
"Sister, the man did not really seem that bad when I talked with him. He was actually rather decent. He even said he'd like to apologise to you", he tried that night after he had returned into the tent.
"No! I'm not going to let him know who I am. We're not going o go down that road no matter what you say. And even if he didn't get mad, Father would sooner or later hear of how I insulted his friend, and then he'd let me hear about it for the rest of my life. I'd rather this King of Rohan just forget my face", Lothíriel insisted stubbornly.
Amrothos sighed resignedly and settled down on his side of the tent.
"But if he finds out about this – and that we lied to him – he's going to be far angrier than if you just went and faced him. Father too would be appalled, considering he has always taught us to be honest", he pointed out.
"I know", Lothíriel muttered, unsettled by just how much sense there was in her brother's words. But she hardened herself, "I don't like this any more than you do."
"Fine. We'll do this your way", said her brother. "But mark my words: it'll be a wonder if he doesn't find out truth anyway."
"Well, maybe he won't", she told him and pulled a blanket over herself, already anxiously waiting for the morrow. He muttered something about pig-headed sisters, but did not pursue the conversation any longer.
She slept fitfully that night and woke up just before sunrise. Momentarily she considered going back to sleep, but then an idea of taking an early morning swim came to her. This was probably the best time for it anyway, as the possibility of running into anyone was smaller. So she got up and pulled on her boots, blinking away last remnants of sleep from her eyes.
Amrothos was snoring away in contentment and he didn't even wake up when she went through some of his clothes. Though he was wider by shoulders and taller than her, his tunics fit her well enough; it didn't seem like she was wearing a tent. She even found some soap, and as soon as she had her things gathered she headed out.
The air of early morning was brisk and fresh and she drew it in with long breaths. On her way to the stream she encountered only couple other early birds, but most of the camp was still fast asleep. As the river was located fairly close to the camp, she judged it was safe enough, and anyway the battle last night should have convinced orcs in the area that it was a wise decision to lay low for now.
The woods were fair in this new fresh spring and Lothíriel felt better despite the skirmish last night. She even hummed a cheerful little tune to herself and would have broken out in a song had she not wanted to enjoy the peaceful quiet of early morning.
She came to the river then and stopped to regard this great stream for a while. Here Anduin's current was gentle enough for swimming purposes. Soft mist of morning hung over the water and the sun was starting to rise, bathing the world in gold. Lothíriel stood there for a bit, admiring the beauty of a new rising day. Then, anxious to get to bathing, she got rid of her clothing and hopped into water. It was cold of course, but she welcomed the prickling freshness of it. It washed away what remnants of sleep still remained and somehow also seemed to make better what had happened last night. She still frowned when she thought of the King of Rohan, though; she ought to have known he was someone important. Only men who were used to commanding others would have such bearing as he.
But he had been so rude. What business of his it were if she chose to carry a bow and fought when a battle commenced? She'd have thought him far more understanding at least, as they said his own sister had ridden into battle! The Rohirrim obviously were a people of warriors!
His own sister...
Unless, it was this Slayer of the Witch-king that had partly caused the man's reaction.
Be it as may, one thing she did know for sure and that was she did not want to meet the man again, not here at least. Perhaps the encounter could take place in Minas Tirith, when she was sufficiently polished and her maidservant Bainiel had made her look like an actual lady. The maidservant, found by her aunt Ivriniel few years ago, could make the transformation of the princess from cave troll into a lady into an art form; surely it would even fool the King of Rohan, and he'd eventually forget about the wild archer woman he had encountered in the woods?
Satisfied with this plan, Lothíriel allowed a smile to herself and returned to the riverbank for her soap. Troll she might be but one thing about lady-likeness she appreciated, and that was bathing. But the water was starting to feel too cold and she hurried up, and when she got up from the stream her teeth were clattering already.
She had just about pulled her borrowed tunic over her head when a sound of someone singing softly alerted her. This someone was striding towards the river with alarming speed: Lothíriel had just about time to grab her things and plunge into a bush before the culprit arrived. The sound of Rohirric should have helped her to put together two and two, but she still had to bite back a curse of surprise when none else than the King of Rohan arrived to the riverbank.
Sweet Elbereth. Of course this man would wander to the scene when she was dressed in nothing but a tunic borrowed from Amrothos! Somewhere, the fates must be laughing at her.
The King of Rohan stood at the brink of water for a moment, evidently admiring the beauty of April morning like she had, but then he began to undress and Lothíriel had to bite her fist in order not to groan in frustration. She should have guessed he too fancied early morning swims. Quickly, the princess tried to come up with some way she could sneak away without his notice... but her concentration was broken when she took note of the King's quite naked state.
Oh dear.
Even in the safety of the bush where he couldn't see her, she still felt the warmth on her cheeks and she knew the shade of her skin must be that of beetroot. She might be just as deranged as her brothers sometimes claimed but that didn't mean she made a habit of peeping at bathing men – she had never seen a naked man before now and a naked King even less. It didn't make it any easier that the damned man wasn't bad to look at. Regretfully Lothíriel considered she had to be the unluckiest princess in the history of Arda, judging by the situations she kept meeting this Lord. Amrothos would laugh himself to death if he'd ever hear of this!
At least the man finally made his way into water and started to swim, and his movements were alike to a great cat completely at ease, and for a moment she was lost staring at him. Then she realised what she was doing and wanted to kick herself. Well, if there were anything good about this he had at least come alone: if he had brought his guards here, Lothíriel had no doubt they'd have found her already. Perhaps she could stay in the bush until this annoying king was done and left?
She was still considering this alternative when a sudden noise alarmed her: there was a hissing and sliding sound somewhere just under her legs... and then she spotted the snake, on which she must have practically leapt when she had sought refuge from this bush. Before she could stop herself Lothíriel gave out shriek, though as soon as that noise pierced the air she recognised the creature. It was a harmless grass snake and the poor thing was far more terrified of her than she was of it.
Nevertheless, the damage had already been done.
"Who is there?!" exclaimed a sharp, threatening voice. The edge of it promised that the King of Rohan would very much run up from the river, stark naked and fight just so, if she didn't announce herself. Damn!
"No one!" she yelled stupidly back at him, peering through the leaves and branches.
"Am I to understand I'm conversing with a bush, then?" asked the man unimpressedly. He stood in water tensed as if in preparation for a battle, and scanned the riverbank with his dark eyes. Even with no stitch on him he looked threatening and invincible, as though he were standing there in his full armour and ready to charge.
"Yes, precisely. But I'm a people-hating bush, so get back to your swimming and leave me alone", Lothíriel said. Perhaps he'd deem her mad and indeed decide he'd better not talk to her.
However, she wasn't quite so lucky. The man frowned and narrowed his eyes as his gaze fixed on her hiding place, which he had rightly located now.
"Wait a minute. Do I know you? Your voice sounds familiar", he said then, taking a step towards the bank.
"Um. No, you don't know me. I just have that kind of a voice, is all. Everyone always tells me that", Lothíriel said quickly. The last thing she needed was the King realising just who she was.
"I think you're lying", said the infuriating Rohir. "I know I've heard you before."
"No, you haven't! Please leave me alone!" said the princess, more desperate this time.
"You should tell me who you are, or I am going to rise up from this river, and I'm not going to mind the fact that I am not presentable at the moment", he announced and took another and quite threatening step towards the riverbank.
It would have been a lie to say that she thought of what she did then. Rather, Lothíriel just followed impulse in the spur of the moment: she pressed her bundle of things against her chest, stood up as gracefully as that was possible in the situation, and leapt out.
The fact that there was a scantily-clad woman standing on the bank of the stream did have the best effect she could have hoped for. The King froze where he was, fortunately still waist-deep in the water, and stared at her. Never had Lothíriel been quite as aware of having legs – and never had a man witnessed them like he now did. The tunic fell barely to her mid-thigh and the water from her bath had partly turned the material see-through.
Oh sweet Elbereth and the seven stars! Here she was, nearly naked on the front of the King of the Mark while he was taking a morning swim! It sounded too absurd to be really happening.
A long moment went by, with both of them too shocked to really react, until he moved as if to approach her. But then Lothíriel shook herself and glared at him.
"You stay right where you are, or I'm going to steal your clothes and run away with them!" she snapped angrily. She half expected him not to listen, but surprisingly he did halt. Astounded he stared at her.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"I told you I'm a bush", Lothíriel groaned and thought of stealing his clothes anyway. He'd have deserved it, what with all the annoyance he was causing her.
"I beg your pardon, but you don't seem like one", he pointed out. At least he was looking her in the eyes instead of staring at her unclad legs.
"I don't care what you think. Now turn around so that I can dress", she ordered. Again he surprised her by complying. For a moment the princess stared at his well-muscled back before she realised how stupid her ogling was and quickly started to pull on her breeches.
"Last night, I didn't have a chance to seek you out. I'd have apologised for our... hmm, encounter in the woods", he said tentatively. He appeared as though he'd have turned to look at her but she tsk'd at him, and he stayed with his back turned towards her. The King continued, "I apologise now, lady. That is, if you are lady."
"It doesn't matter what I am", Lothíriel said, buckling her belt. "But I accept your apology."
He stood as if waiting for something, but when she remained silent he spoke again: "Well?"
"Well what?" Lothíriel asked sharply.
"Aren't you going to apologise back? You did behave rather rudely yourself, if I may say so", he pointed out. Maybe he was right, but he had started it. And now he had decided to come bathe while she was here, and she was so not apologising for anything today and least of all to him.
"I'm not! And perhaps you'll understand I'm not worth your while and you'll forget about me. I'm leaving now. Good day!" she told him and turned to leave. However, the King wasn't quite done with her.
"Wait!" he shouted after her. "At least tell me your name!"
"No, I will not! Goodbye!" Lothíriel shouted at him over her shoulder and dashed into forest, trying to get away from this infuriating man as quickly as she could.
She wouldn't even have been too surprised if he had chased after her naked.
A/N: And here we join again Lothíriel and Éomer again in the woods of Ithilien, where we last left them in Wild Hearts... only now, the circumstances are quite different.
This chapter is mostly meant to feel out our main characters and also to introduce them to each other. That encounter goes... well, you can see how it goes! Lothíriel not wanting to reveal her identity might seem similar to Wild Hearts, but here her conviction to do so stems from an entirely another motivation. It is actually likely that Amrothos is right in saying she should just tell Éomer the truth; however we wouldn't have a story if she weren't stubborn here and perhaps also illogical. She's just really scared of tarnishing the reputation of her father in Éomer's eyes and somehow ruining their friendship. Before you shout out that her behaviour at the river doesn't really help with this, but this is actually a conscious choice on my part and relates to the dynamics of their relationship - something which I will explore as the story progresses.
A fun fact about their first encounter: it was actually a scene in a story I worked with back when I finished the first draft of what would eventually become Heart's Desire. After a time I realised the story was rubbish, but I always liked this one scene... and here you see it resurrected.
I suppose this is also a good place for some words on Lothíriel's characterization in this piece. I am under the impression that weapon-wielding, rebellious Lothíriel is considered a cliché and there are people who don't like that kind of version of her. However, I would at least first plead my case here and leave the rest for your judgement.
While Lothíriel in this piece does appear the usual tomboy kind of type, I would think there's more to her than that. Her rebelliousness is questionable as well, because Imrahil - whom we'll hopefully meet soon - doesn't disapprove of her bearing arms, and even Aunt Ivriniel's ideas about "being a princess" are half-hearted. These matters I hope to explore later on. Anyway, personally I've never really had anything against this characterization of Lothíriel, and I'm not against using clichés if they're executed nicely. Moreover, to me it always made sense that Éomer might be attracted to such a personality - and, as you very well know by now, I subscribe to the idea that the two of them married out of love or at least mutual attraction. And to be honest, that Lothíriel carries a bow and isn't afraid to fight is very much required for what I mean to do with this story. If she's not "the Lioness", then we don't have a story, and I don't know whose purposes that would serve. Not mine, at least.
Moreover, I would like to state that Lothíriel, for the first part of this story especially, is a childish and flawed character. However, my aim is to let her grow and improve as the story progresses. For the time being, I must ask you to be patient with her, though her reactions may seem strange and even irrational. In my defence, they are based on human reactions, and, as we all know, people make mistakes.
As ar as canon goes, this idea of a wild girl does seem to fit, if you ask me. You probably noticed how Lothíriel called the name of Mithrellas when she charged. According to the legend Mithrellas is the Elven ancestress of the House of Princes of Dol Amroth who was seeking the sea when she met the founding father of the dynasty. But though she had two children with Imrazor, she eventually chose to carry on her journey, and left behind her mortal family. In my mind this bloodline has bred some of the wide ancient skies and the vast wilderness into her descendants.
Furthermore, I would ask you to give me the benefit of doubt. Lothíriel now is one thing. She's young, she's barely met Éomer, and her story is just starting. I hope to take this "headstrong fighter girl" and let her grow as an individual and a woman. Hopefully, in the process, I will also be able to make this characterization my own and give it a fresh spin.
Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks for reading and reviewing!
Quote in the beginning originally by Sun Tzu in "Art of War".
Inspiration for the chapter: Abel Korzeniowski - Juliet's Dream