Ilúvatar has given you one face, and you make yourself another. - Ecthelion, The Bard of Lossarnarch
Chapter 3
The morning was so fair that Lothíriel couldn't really feel too bad when she ventured to the training grounds of the Citadel on that day. Last night had been bewildering and uncomfortable and Father had said he was rather disappointed with her for disappearing the way she had, and the worst thing had been she couldn't tell him the truth behind it. So, when after the celebration Father had told her she had behaved horribly for so ignoring the King of Rohan who was a friend, she had just remained quiet, not even trying to excuse herself. Eventually Father had sighed and told everyone to go to bed, but Amrothos had given her a look that spoke loudly: I told you so.
Well, it wasn't like any of this came as a surprise. Lothíriel knew that refusing to meet the King and settling this for good would only make it worse if she did come to confront him, which was more likely than not. He was her father's friend and his sister and Faramir had something very serious going on. But even as this knowledge threatened to crush her, Lothíriel reminded herself that soon the King would go back to his northern land, she wouldn't have to interact him beyond the inevitable official meeting which would probably end with his deep offence, and he'd never talk to her again.
She arrived to the training grounds then and pushed aside thoughts of the King of Rohan. It was pleasantly peaceful there now: after the war, it seemed few felt the need for training... or perhaps everyone was still recovering from last night's feast. Upon her flight from the hall of Merethrond she had heard couple of guards lamenting for having duty on that particular night as there were parties taking place all over the city.
The training grounds was a wide open area at the very bottom of the Citadel, away from the formal court. The place was not far from the barracks and was surrounded by storage chambers, a small smithery, and other necessary buildings. Sometimes, when she had been younger, she had come here to watch her cousins train with the Guards of the Citadel. She fondly remembered those times as Boromir had always been happy to provide her with sword lessons, though apparently Uncle Denethor hadn't liked that very well. Naturally, Boromir had usually beaten her (except for the times when he let her win), but she had learnt much from him. Though she preferred her bow, Lothíriel felt that the most she knew of swordplay she owed to her late cousin. Would that he had got to live and see the peace dawn in the world!
After dragging out some dummies from the storage and placing there on the field to different distances, she picked up her bow and began her training. Taking aim and shooting cleared her head in a way few other things ever managed, and for a while all thoughts of insufferable kings were non-existent. All but one arrow reached their targets – either head or where the heart would be – and the one missed mostly counted for an errant thought of certain dark eyes blazing in anger for her unladylike manner of charging head first into a fray.
It was an Elven voice that distracted her from training after a while, when morning had already bloomed to its full glory. The voice was instantly recognisable as belonging to one of the Immortal, because Men never had voices so light and fair.
"You are very good", said the newcomer, and Lothíriel jumped around to see him. She nearly blurted out something defensive and rude, but then she took note of the Elf. It was none else than Prince Legolas of the Woodland Realm... and if he considered you a good archer, then it was nothing but a compliment. She had heard of his skill, something that was deemed extraordinary even among Elven kind.
"Thank you, my lord", she said and made one of her better curtsies. She smiled weakly, "Though I must wonder... it doesn't seem to me that males usually appreciate it when females show their skill in war."
A fond smile, and slightly bittersweet, touched the ever-young face of Legolas.
"I have lived long enough to learn better, my lady. And to tell you the truth... one of the bravest fighters I have ever known was a woman of my own kind", he said gently. That made her eyes widen, as she had never heard of Elven women taking part in battle. She'd have asked more about this lady – whom she instantly liked for obvious reasons – but Legolas continued, "I do not believe we have been introduced. I am Legolas Thranduilion."
"Your reputation travels before you, my lord. I was rather hoping to meet you, as I've heard so many wonderful stories about you", she answered. With another curtsy, she introduced herself: "I'm Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, daughter of Imrahil."
The Elf smiled once more.
"Of course, I should have known. You share the grace of your father", he said softly and his expression suddenly became odd, and he regarded her keenly; it felt like he was somehow inside her mind, reading her innermost thoughts. A strange breathless feeling came to her and she couldn't say anything. Legolas spoke again, his voice not much more than a whisper, "May that grace remain with you through all the days of your life."
"I... thank you, my lord", she said, her voice coming out choked.
But now the Elven prince smiled again and the strange expression on his face disappeared.
"Please, call me Legolas. I am only Prince back in my own land", he said then. She answered the friendly smile with one of her own. This was actually the first time in her life she conversed with an elf, and she had to admit to being slightly surprised. She had always pictured them as distant, high people... full of sadness and wisdom, to the point where even their gladness spoke of ancient sorrows. Not that Legolas was without grace – he just seemed a lot more approachable than she would have thought.
"That I'll do, but only if you call me Lothíriel in turn", she said. Then, seeing how pleasant this meeting was turning out to be, she encouraged herself and asked, "Could you perhaps show me your archery? It would be a great honour, and I would love to see the skill of a master."
"Of course, my friend. Would you mind borrowing me your bow? I didn't bring along my own", Legolas said, and readily she offered him her weapon... though she instantly felt embarrassed, too. Her bow, worn and much used, must seem like such a clumsy thing compared to the Elf's own. But if he thought so too it never showed.
What followed was perhaps the most fascinating battle instruction/performance she had ever seen. The absolute control and smoothness of the Elf's movements was breathtaking and his skill something she could but dream of. Legolas made archery seem so effortless, like the arrow was following rather his mind than his hand. He missed no shots, yet he didn't seem like it took much concentration of him. When he asked her to shoot in turn, Lothíriel felt immensely clumsy and unskilled and she missed more shots than ever in her life. Legolas' face remained always friendly and he showed no sign that he might be amused by her attempts.
All in all it was perhaps the most fruitful session of her life, and over an hour went by... it was likely that they'd have spent the entire morning and afternoon in the middle of it, if not for Amrothos running to the scene like a pack of orcs was hunting him.
"Lothíriel! There you are! You must hurry, there is-" he breathlessly called, but didn't get to finish his sentence. Sharply she turned towards him and interrupted him.
"Amrothos, don't you see I'm busy?" she asked in frustration. She was everything but done here.
"And you're about to get even busier", Amrothos shot back, not paying any heed to her irritation. "Father has invited King Éomer for tea in less than an hour. You better hurry, because he means you should meet the Lord of Rohirrim."
Even after his adventures Prince Legolas of the Woodland Realm deemed he'd never fully understand the Second-born children of Ilúvatar. He had known plenty of them during his time, but whenever he felt he had finally figured them out, they'd do something to throw him off balance all over again.
The Race of Men had a way of doing most wondrous and bewildering things... and he felt intimidated amazement when he thought they could operate outside the Great Music that decreed so much of what Elves could ever be.
But this also meant they were sometimes such a strange kin, and when Princess Lothíriel cried out at her brother's words, jumped in the air, and grabbed her bow, he felt truly confused and slightly startled. He hadn't known mortal women could produce such peculiar noises.
"I'm sorry, Legolas! I'll see you later, if I'm still alive!" she exclaimed and ran away, leaving behind a stupefied Elf wondering what on Arda was the matter.
The Second-born were truly eccentric... and it was either the stroke of genius or madness on Ilúvatar's part that they existed.
The House of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth was something of a palace, deemed Éomer as he stopped before it to regard the town home of his friend. Built of the same white stone that made up the rest of the city, it was a beautiful sight but also sort of intimidating. Though he loved his home like any Eorling loved the Mark, sometimes this city of stone made Éomer feel particularly aware of how different his own land was from this place.
"Is something wrong?" asked Éothain then, distracting the young king from his thoughts. Ever since the Battle of Pelennor fields it had become apparent he couldn't go anywhere without some guards following him, and even a visit to a friend's house warranted bringing men from his own éored. It seemed unnecessary and uncomfortable, but his captain at least wouldn't hear objections.
"All is well. Just thinking", Éomer answered then and they went forth. Imrahil's guards immediately opened the gate for them, as they recognised the King of Rohan, and one man hurried along to announce his arrival.
The invitation had come the very same morning. His friend had asked him to come and meet his family, and the Princess Lothíriel who had been absent last night. It touched the new king of the horselords, knowing Imrahil held him in such high regard that he'd want to introduce him to the whole Amrothian family.
A servant was there to open the door for Éomer. Except for Éothain his guards would stay outside, probably to make friends with Imrahil's men – it was very unlikely that the Prince had any plans of committing a lese majesty, after all.
The house itself was every bit as grand as it had seemed from outside. The hall they passed through was light and spacious and there was beautifully carved furniture and even couple of statues, not unlike those he had seen in the Citadel. Beautiful it was but the Rohir felt like it was a house where you weren't supposed to touch anything.
Then Imrahil came striding to the hall, wearing a welcoming smile as he spread his arms in a welcoming gesture.
"There you are, my friend! I'm glad that you could come, though I sent the invitation on such a short notice", he said. Stopping on the front of the young king he gave a warm pat to Éomer's shoulder.
"I always have time for friends, Imrahil", he said, answering the smile with one of his own.
The Prince nodded at Éothain and then took a step back. He said, "Please, do come along. The rest of the family is already at the parlour – except for my daughter, that is. She's being remarkably slow this afternoon, but she'll join us soon."
"Of course", said said the young king and followed his friend to an airy sitting room.
Imrahil's sons and daughter-in-law were already there, all of them seated except for Amrothos, who stood by a window and seemed slightly jittery for some reason. When the three men entered, they rose up to greet him. It was very easy to notice the family resemblance between the Prince and his sons: they all shared the same eyes and nose, and were of tall and slender build. Princess Aredhel seemed to grow smaller compared to them, but her serene smiles betrayed she was completely at ease among the four men. Seeing them gathered there they looked like they belonged together.
The Prince gestured his guests to sit down, and the next quarter of an hour was spent in pleasant conversations. Mostly topics consisted of last night's celebrations, and then Aredhel asked of the Ride of the Rohirrim from the Mark.
"Lothíriel should be here – she'd love to hear of it as well. Of all the tales she's always loved this kind the most... odd thing for a princess, perhaps", Imrahil said then. He looked at his youngest son, "Would you go and see what is taking her so long? It's not very polite to keep our friend here waiting."
"I'll go", Amrothos said, his voice strained and without its usual good cheer. He swiftly exited the room.
"So your daughter has a taste for an adventure?" asked Éomer then. The most noble ladies he had met in Gondor did not seem to share that trait, but perhaps it was not so odd that Imrahil's daughter might be different. After all, she did have Amrothos for brother.
"Yes, one could say that. If you think my son Amrothos is something, on her best days Lothíriel is ten time better than him – or worse, depending on whom you ask. Sometimes I think she must be a fay's child, what with her wild ways..." said the Prince, smiling fondly. Éomer hid his frown, because something about the man's words roused to him a feeling of doubt. The more Imrahil spoke of his daughter, the less she sounded like a lady of Princess Aredhel's kind.
But he did not get to dwell on that, because Amrothos had returned, and with him came a... a woman.
Well, her figure and clothing were of woman, but for some reason she had decided to wear a hideous-looking orange gown and what looked like every piece of jewellery she owned, and she had veiled her face from under her eyes. Even Éomer, someone who had recently got to witness some very strange things, stared at her.
So did her family, except maybe for Erchirion. The King did not see his face but his snort was audible –and it was the only noise that penetrated the silence in the room.
"Well, Father, here I am!" said Princess Lothíriel in a shrill high-pitched voice, made a ridiculous little dance through the room, and tossed herself gracelessly into a chair.
"Daughter, what in the name of Elbereth are you wearing?" asked Imrahil. His voice was thin and though he controlled his face masterfully, Éomer could still see how embarrassed the man was. It made him want to disappear so that he wouldn't have to witness this awkward family moment.
"It's a veil, Father! There was this horrible pimple right in the middle of my nose, and I told myself that's not how you meet a King, so I decide veils are in vogue, and-" simpered the girl. Still Éomer could but stare and wonder what precisely had made Imrahil say his daughter had wild ways. This princess was not wild – she was mad.
"Lothíriel, please, go and get changed. You are embarrassing all of us", Imrahil said in a pained voice.
"What? I think I look just wonderful and so queenly! What do you say, wouldn't this be the perfect attire for the masked ball tonight?" she asked. Before her father could comment anything to that, she turned to look at Éomer, who still sat silent and dumbfounded. With the veil it was hard to make out much of her – and her manners made it mostly unnecessary in his opinion – but there was one thing that moved him.
That thing was her eyes: bright, clear grey, and so full of spirit that momentarily he even forgot about her absurd appearance... and he felt he had no idea of what he was looking at.
However, she reminded him very quickly of that.
"Oh! My lord, what an honour it is to meet you at last! Father has been telling us so much of you, I have so looked forward to this, and it is true you killed two mûmakil in the Battle of Pelennor fields? Could you show me some of your spear-throwing some time? It sounds so dreamy!" she chattered away in an air-headed manner beyond anything he had ever witnessed. His mood fully sobered then, and he decided it was but a coincidence that she had the same eyes, and he gave her a stony look.
"Are you planning on hunting mûmakil?" he asked, keeping his voice steady but cool.
"That does sound nice, yes! Do you perchance know where I might-" started this insane princess, but then her brother Amrothos took her by hand.
"I think that's enough. Come along, sister", he said quietly, and the girl fell silent. Then, without a further comment, the prince escorted her out of the room.
They spoke no word on their way to her chamber; the only sound was the jingling of her jewellery. Lothíriel kept her eyes on the ground, and she wasn't sure she'd have been able to face Amrothos anyway... even though this was precisely what they had agreed to do.
The only way the King of Rohan would never pay attention to her again if he thought she was mad. Well, different mad than the archer woman he had seen in the woods of Ithilien. And if she had been able to read the man at all, it was obvious she had succeeded.
When at last they got to her room Lothíriel more or less ripped away the silly veil from her face and fell to sit on the edge of the bed. Father would be so angry. But perhaps it was worth his wrath.
And yet... it didn't feel like that. She didn't know why that was. Things had worked out exactly as she had hoped, but it didn't bring her any relief. Instead, all she could see was two dark eyes staring at her: first in confusion, then in distaste. And then it had cracked, and from beneath that offence she had seen... something... something...
Something so real.
Amrothos sat beside her and lay a hand on her shoulder.
"That was bad", he murmured. She knew exactly what he meant.
"I know", Lothíriel answered in a weak voice. And then she burst in tears.
Though Imrahil had made his best efforts to apologise for the behaviour of his daughter, the rest of the visit had still been awkward, and as soon as it was polite Éomer had excused himself. They had started back for the Citadel, and Éothain had known not to say anything as the young king mulled over what had taken place in his friend's parlour.
Princess Lothíriel was... he didn't even know what she was. And yet it made no sense! How could Imrahil have children like that? He had said she was better – or worse – than Amrothos, but the statement had been delivered as entirely humorous, and he certainly had not made any implications that she was touched in the head.
Did it have something to do with Éomer himself, then? No, that was not possible. After all, he hadn't even met the girl before...
By the time he had come to this conclusion they had already reached the Citadel, and he was distracted from his thoughts by the sight of his sister approaching. She had been out walking with Faramir, and both of them looked so blissfully happy that he couldn't help a pang of jealousy, petty as that was.
"Brother! I was hoping I might catch you. Did you have pleasant time with Prince Imrahil's family?" Éowyn asked, smiling at him brightly.
"I... it was very interesting", Éomer answered reluctantly. By his answer her expression sobered, and Faramir raised his eyebrows.
"What did Amrothos do this time? Or was it Lothíriel?" he asked.
"It's nothing", said the young king and looked away. When he turned again towards the happy couple, he could see the glance they shared – already they reminded him of a long-married couple who knew what the other was thinking of just by looking at their face.
"Well, then, would you like to come with me? I've got something for you", Éowyn said, breaking the silence. She was smiling again, though he had a feeling this was a matter she'd closely reflect on later, either alone or with Faramir.
"Whatever you want, sister", Éomer replied, even managing a smile for her.
She gave a kiss to Faramir and promised to see him later, and then she linked her arm with her brother's, and the two of them started for the palace.
"What is it then, sister?" he asked as they strolled inside.
"You know there's a masked ball tonight here tonight?" she asked back.
"Aye, but I have yet to learn what masks have anything to do with balls", he answered, frowning to himself. The concept didn't seem to bear any sense. Éowyn chortled.
"Apparently it's just a twist someone came up with once and everyone just ran along with it. It's like any ball – people just wears masks", she explained.
"Where am I supposed to get a mask now?" he inquired. Perhaps he wouldn't have to attend if he didn't have proper attire for the ball?
"Don't worry. I've already arranged everything. I told them to bring your clothes to your chamber – it should be there waiting for you", she answered.
He processed this information in silence for a while, with questions filling his mind. It did not seem to make much sense.
Indeed, upon entering his chambers (which consisted of four entire rooms!), a completely new outfit accompanied by a mask was there waiting for him on a stand. It was the usual green, and mask had some very elaborate golden decorations.
At the sight of clothes, he could but stand back in silence for a moment, and stare at the compilation of clothes and especially the mask. Éomer found himself loss at words. Gondorians!
"How did you come by this?" he asked at last, which made his sister grin.
"I pulled some strings. Faramir knows this fellow, who knows a fellow... you know how it goes. It doesn't matter. The point is that you're going to look amazing, brother, and ladies will swoon all over your feet", she said cheerfully. He snorted as an answer and quietly entertained the possibility that his sister too had started to lose her mind.
"This is ridiculous", he said then as he regarded the attire before him.
"No, it's not. I hear masked balls are very fashionable – Faramir says they used to have them all the time when his mother Lady Finduilas still lived. And you're going to wear this even if it kills you", Éowyn said patiently.
"But why do I have to wear a mask? It doesn't even hide my face properly! What is the point of such a thing?" Éomer complained, picking up the mask and turning it around in his hands. He had never seen a more foolish garment.
"You're not supposed to go unknown, brother. And I doubt you could conceal your identity anyway, even if you tried", she told him and gave him a particularly infuriating smile.
"That doesn't make any sense", he pointed out in frustration. This Gondorian court life was truly bewildering; mad noblewomen, masked balls... he wondered whose idea it had even been to have a masked ball.
Éowyn considered him, sighed, and shook her head – a look he knew well.
"I suppose if would be waste of time to try and explain", she muttered. "Just play along, brother, will you? And keep your notions to yourself."
"What do you take me for, Éowyn? I am capable if behaving myself when need be", Éomer said defensively.
"You should really consider finding a wife here in Mundburg. She could explain you these things", said his sister. He refrained from making comments on how a Gondorian wife was currently the last thing he wanted.
"I'm not sure I really want to know", he muttered and put away the mask. He frowned, "which begs me to ask why you are telling me any of this. You were never the one for great balls."
That brought another grin to her face, smoothing away that look she always wore when she was being patient with him.
"Oh, it's not my idea. Faramir was the one to ask me to make sure you'd appear in proper attire. It's for the ladies, of course", she said, sitting down by the window to watch him as he despaired before his attire for the night.
"Why would he be concerned about that?" he wanted to know. Éowyn shrugged.
"Probably for my sake. One day, perhaps not so far in the future now, I'm going to leave the Mark. And if you remain alone, without a family around you to drive you insane, I'm just going to worry about you all the time", she said, her voice turning soft now.
Éomer did not know how to answer that. Though he was happy for his sister finding this new light to her life, he did also know it would not be easy to watch her go. After all, she was the only family he had left.
She probably read it from his face or otherwise knew what he thought, for her expression became gentle, and she stood up; then she lay a hand on his shoulder. Searching his face, Éowyn seemed very concerned.
"If you wish me to stay-" she started, but he quickly disrupted her.
"Don't be foolish, sister. I want you to be happy, even if it means leaving Rohan", he told her firmly. A slight smile touched her face, though tears glistened now in her eyes. She gave him a tight hug.
"I just need to know you'll be all right, brother", Éowyn murmured.
"And I will be, sister. Have you ever known me to not be all right?" he asked her gently. She sniffled but smiled anyway.
"I could name some instances. But I agree you have a way of enduring things. I'm not sure even I'm as resilient as you", she said and wiped a hand across her eyes. He gave her a snort he hoped came out as light-hearted, as he wanted to lighten her mood again.
"Now that is not true, Éowyn. I am fairly convinced I'd never have lived through things you have faced", he told her.
His dear sister seemed to be unable to answer. Instead, she just hugged him again.
"Even if I'm leaving Rohan you can always count on me to be there for you, if you need me", she whispered to him and pulled back. Éowyn smiled, "Because who else is ever going to put up with you, brother?"
He rolled his eyes at her... but the truth was she had somehow managed to cheer him up just as well.
Oh, he was going to miss her so much.
After a long and thorough scolding Father had told Lothíriel it would be for the better if she didn't join the family for the masked ball tonight. By then he had been mostly just tired and sad and it had broken her heart to see her dear father like that. Quietly she had apologised for her show earlier that day, but Father had not said "it was all right."
That was the truth: it wasn't all right what she had done. And Father had been absolutely right in telling her she had behaved more horribly than a battalion of orcs. Ashamed, she had sat through it, enduring every sharp word and then the cold disappointment. Silently she had begun to wonder if what she had done was really worth it.
Now evening was falling, and seated on the edge of her bed she listened to the noises of her family as they prepared to leave for the masked ball. Those had always been her favourites when it came to the court gatherings. There was something about masks and wearing them, like she could put away herself and be someone else for one night.
Once more her thoughts turned to the King of Rohan. From her window she had seen him exiting the house, and though she hadn't seen his face, Lothíriel had noticed how tense his figure was. The reason for that was not lost on her, and she had felt deep self-loathing for treating him, this brave and decent man, in a way he did not deserve in the slightest. All he had done was get caught in some stupid situations with her, and fault was mostly hers for being... being such a stubborn, cowardly idiot.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Aredhel as she peeked in her chamber. The older woman seemed slightly concerned when she saw that Lothíriel sat there in the middle of darkness.
"Is everything... do you need something, sister?" she asked gently.
"I'm fine", mumbled the princess. "Go ahead and have a great night."
Aredhel regarded her in silence, her hazel eyes gentle and compassionate. Unlike Father, she sensed there was more to what had happened earlier. But she also recognised Lothíriel was not on the mood to speak about it.
"We're going to leave in a moment. I could stay with you, if you-" she offered, but Lothíriel interrupted her before she could finish the sentence.
"No, no. I've ruined enough things for the day", she said quickly. Then, after a moment of hesitation, she continued, "If you see the King of Rohan tonight, tell him I'm sorry."
A small smile touched the face of her sister-in-law. Aredhel spoke softly, "I will do that. Good night, sister."
"Good night", Lothíriel answered. The other woman closed the door and she could hear voices talking, and then falling away, and she was left alone in a big quiet house.
King of Rohan... suddenly, she felt somehow worried. What if her monstrous conduct had a more disastrous effect than she had predicted? What if he wanted nothing more to do with the people of Gondor, and he'd leave the city, and all good things that could have come out of this would not take place? And most importantly, was he all right?
She had to know. She needed to see him, if only from afar, and make sure her behaviour did not have some catastrophic consequences. No one had to know she was there: she'd just very briefly visit the ball, find out if the King of Rohan was very upset, and then she'd sneak out before anyone had time to recognise her. Father would never have to know of it and this time she'd make sure the horselord didn't notice her either.
Yes, it was perfect. And tomorrow she'd behave better, perhaps even travel back to Dol Amroth to make sure she caused no more havoc among her father's friends.
Her energy and mood restored, Lothíriel jumped up on her feet and dashed to find her maidservant Bainiel. This would require some magic, and Bainiel was just the sorceress to perform it.
Éomer, King of the Mark, felt ridiculous when he joined the great masked ball. Like he had told his sister the whole concept of wearing masks seemed inane to him, but he had promised her he'd do this, and so he made sure one more time that the mask was safely on place.
Upon entering he examined the crowd and noticed that green was apparently in vogue. Looking around he saw ladies dressed in gowns more and more rich, but on the other hand the concept of a masked ball appeared also to contain the idea of extravagance that defied the borders of imagination and sanity. Dryly he mused that the Princess of Dol Amroth would have fitted in just fine with her orange gown and veil.
He quickly made his way towards where Aragorn was chatting away with Faramir. The two men smiled at him as he joined the company; after exchanging greetings the Steward excused himself, as he had something he needed to talk of with Imrahil. Briefly Éomer had to wonder how such calm, collected men could possibly have such insane kinswomen.
"Éowyn tells me you were not too excited about this masked ball, brother", Aragorn said, disrupting all thoughts of mad Gondorian ladies. Éomer gave him an uneasy smile.
"I had difficulty understanding the point of masks, yes. Please don't tell me it was your idea and I have just offended you", he replied awkwardly. To his relief Aragorn just smiled.
"No, not at all. Most of the blame goes to Faramir, I suppose... but then, he says he was very much pressured into this by certain parties when he was preparing things for our return", said the older man softly. "As far as I understand, these were considered very delightful back in the more peaceful times. I think people are trying to make up for all the entertainment they were denied before in the years of danger and war."
He sighed then, "But I do understand your position, brother. We both have seen too many masks, and worn them to our hearts' content."
"It's all right. I was merely being foolish when I complained to Éowyn. It's just a ball", answered the Rohir quietly. A servant stopped by them and offered glasses of wine, which they both accepted readily. After taking a sip of the drink he continued, "One could say I was not on the best mood when I was informed of this."
"Is everything fine now at least?" Aragorn inquired softly. The man seemed to think all things were his concern, especially if he suspected his friends were having trouble.
"It's all right, brother", Éomer reassured his friend. The matter of Princess of Dol Amroth was not really something he wanted to discuss. Not now, at least.
Fortunately Elfhelm arrived then and joined the two kings, and thoughts of unpleasant encounters were pushed aside. Apparently Éowyn had found attire for Elfhelm too, and the Marshal seemed far more comfortable in his mask than Éomer himself felt. The man had gone as far as making some elaborate braids in his hair and the King suspected he'd be receiving his own share of female attention tonight.
"My lords, there you are. I almost didn't recognise you", Elfhelm said good-humouredly. Aragorn laughed at his words.
"My good Marshal, of all the guests present you and your king are least likely to go unknown", he commented lightly.
"Hmm. Perhaps we should dye our hair", Elfhelm suggested.
"You would look ludicrous", Éomer put in, which made his Marshal lift his eyebrows.
"And you wouldn't, Sire?" he asked.
"Of course not. I would be gorgeous", answered the young king nonchalantly; jesting was always effortless with the cheerful Marshal. Elfhelm chortled.
"You would look like Théodred. And everyone would think he had risen from the grave, and wherever you went people would run away screaming", he shot back.
It was good that it was Aragorn witnessing this conversation and not someone else. For one, he had spent much time in Rohan when he had served Thengel King as Thorongil, and so he knew that this kind of speech was not disrespect for the late Crown Prince or disregard for grief caused by his passing. This was just the way Eorlingas remembered their dead: with love and laughter and smiles, and in the mind of the Rohirrim it did not undermine the severity of loss.
"I look nothing like Théodred, Elfhelm, and if you continue to insist so I will assume that you have made too many dives into barrels of ale", Éomer said, which made both his friends chuckle.
After a while a servant came to speak of something with Aragorn and he excused himself, leaving the two Rohirs to their own devices. Dancing had now begun in the hall, and for a while they observed the couples twirling and moving gracefully on the floor. Éomer had never been much of a dancer, except for the dances of his own land, and he had figured it best not to offend anyone's sensibilities here in Mundburg. Judging by some looks of longing he had already received, his choice not to dance was not happily received.
"Well", Elfhelm commented then, "this all is something I haven't seen before."
"It is fairly odd, yes. Gondorian court life continues to bewilder me", answered the young king, at which the Marshal made a noise of agreement. He glanced at his friend, "Truthfully I'd rather sneak out and find something more Rohirric."
"Oh, I know. The lads told me there's a celebration down at our camp tonight. Imagine all that ale and music and real dancing", Elfhelm said and both men sighed wistfully at the same time. As inviting as the idea was, Éomer knew he couldn't just go like that. For one, Éowyn would be cross with him after all the trouble she had gone through, and as a king he was required to represent the Rohirrim.
"Perhaps we can make an escape later on. The King should also pay attention to his subjects, don't you think?" he commented to Elfhelm, who nodded emphatically.
"Aye, Sire. The men need to see their leader participating their life in all things", he agreed.
"Elfhelm, do you think..." Éomer started, but suddenly his eyes found a figure he had not expected to see, and he fell silent.
He knew her from the way she moved. That was odd, considering he had only seen her two times before now. And yet the way she carried herself, her straight and smooth posture, was something he recognised right away. Her hair was dark, plainly braided, and behind her mask her bright grey eyes sparkled like Elven jewels. She could have worn ten masks and he would have known it was her.
The archer woman had come again... and this time, she hadn't seen him.
"Who's that?" Elfhelm asked – he had noticed how his king stared.
"I'm not sure", Éomer answered truthfully, "But I'm going to ask her for a dance."
When he started for the Lady Archer, he heard Elfhelm exclaim behind him: "But you don't even know how to dance!"
Lothíriel had never got ready for a ball as fast as she did that night. Well, most of the credit went to Bainiel anyway, because the maidservant was very efficient and good at what she did (she'd need a raise in salary, Lothíriel had decided). Getting to the Citadel had been fairly easy as well, and as the hall of Merethrond was already full of people she could sneak in without much notice.
Seeing the masked crowd, glimmering and shining in their finest, she felt a faint rush of excitement. Ordinary balls were one thing, but masks always made it so... she couldn't name it really. She had to rein in her enthusiasm, though: she hadn't come here to celebrate or dance.
A quick look about confirmed her family was safely far from her, chatting away with some friends and relatives, but she couldn't spot the King of Rohan anywhere. That made her feel uneasy as she strolled through the crowd. Was that her fault? Had he refused to join the night's gathering? What if he had already left the city!
Worry was growing inside her heart when suddenly a voice called her from her right side: "Lady Archer. I am glad to see that you decided to attend."
The familiar rich tones of the voice of King Éomer of Rohan nearly had her jumping and yelling in surprise. Sharply she turned to look at him.
In all honesty, the man did look rather fetching. The green of his coat became him very well – good for him, considering it was the colour of his land – and the garment flattered his tall powerful build. Even in the middle of this green-clothed crowd, he stood out, and it was not just his height or the gold of his hair. This King of Rohan had somehow a very loud presence, the kind that demanded one's attention even if he were quiet.
And the way he looked at her, with one corner of his mouth lifted in a barely suppressed half-smile and his eyes glinting, reassured her that he really hadn't made the connection between her and the ludicrous orange-wearing orc of a girl he had met before this same day.
"May I have this dance?" he asked then; before Lothíriel could really think, she had already placed her hand in his. She told herself that was because she didn't want him to have a completely horrific day.
"Just one dance then, Sire", she mumbled as they joined the other dancers. His fingers against hers were strong and warm and calloused, and she felt breathless when she thought this was the first she was touching him.
"Sire?" he wondered out loud, "There's a change at least. I was rather expecting you'd call me names again."
Lothíriel felt her cheeks warming up with embarrassment. What an insufferable man!
"I can do that, my lord, if you'd prefer more colourful names", she said, lifting up her chin. She'd be damned if she let him get to her.
"I'm almost tempted to find out just how far your vocabulary goes", he answered lightly. They twirled around – kind of clumsily, as he wasn't any better dancer than she was, and she suspected they looked kind of silly – and he gave her a pensive look, "But I must say, this is quite a change to your earlier attire. Where are your breeches and your bow?"
"Oh, I'm not the only one who has changed attires, your kingship. I'm wearing a gown for the same reason you're not naked now", she shot back before she could hold her tongue. The man looked at her astonishment and then burst out laughing, which bewildered her; she'd have expected him to be offended by such a bold and shameless statement. Why could she first offend him by acting like she had before, and then appear here and find that equally rampant speech and behaviour only made him laugh? This man made no sense at all!
"You are a precious woman, Lady Archer. Deranged, but precious", he commented fondly, and she had no idea of what to say to that. She concentrated on dancing for a bit and almost fell, but he steadied her and she mumbled thanks.
"To answer your question: I'm in disguise, Sire", she informed him, if just to say something. That too seemed to amuse him and he chortled.
"Is that so?" he inquired. His hands briefly touched hers as they twirled around again, and she noted how steady those fingers of his felt like. It distracted her from the fact that by now neither of them had any idea of the dance anymore, but were rather following steps of their own.
He continued, "I see you favour green as well."
Not bothering to wonder about what he might mean by that, Lothíriel shrugged.
"Like I said, I'm in a disguise", she said. "I was trying to blend in."
That seemed to surprise him.
"Really? All the ladies I've encountered tonight have done their utmost to stand out. You are a most unusual young woman... but then, I suppose I shouldn't expect Gondorian servants to be like their nobility", he said, which had her looking at him in confusion.
"Servants?" she repeated. What was the horselord talking about now?
"You are a servant, aren't you?" he asked. "Wearing the gown of your mistress and sneaked into a great ball?"
"What has lead you to that conclusion?" Lothíriel asked carefully.
"Well, you're nothing like the noble women I've met so far. All they ever talk of is idle pleasantries, and I doubt they'd know even half of the words you screamed at me on that night in the woods. You know how to ride and how to use a bow, which doesn't seem like a part of formal education for a noble lady. And your hands – they're not as soft and smooth like those of the ladies here", he explained, making her curse silently in her mind. He was far too perceptive for his own good, even though his knowledge of Gondorian culture had lead him to make the wrong assumption.
Be it as may, what should she tell this man? Should she let him believe she indeed was a servant, and thus dismiss her behaviour as that of an uncultured commoner? Or tell him the truth and potentially insult him even more than she already had? Oh, if Father had not been disappointed in her before, he'd surely be furious if he heard of this!
"Perhaps that is a disguise as well", she said at last. Lies were just as bad as the possibility of insulting the King of Rohan. They said the Rohirrim did not appreciate dishonesty... and their new lord in particular had the reputation of a quick-tempered man – something she had witnessed first hand. He wouldn't try to throw her out of window if he learned the truth, would he?
"You're all disguises then, my lady? Tell me, what is the real you?" he asked. He was studying her very intently now, and looking a bit like he could just barely concentrate on even keeping up a façade of a dance.
"That was precisely what I was hoping to hide from you, Sire", she blurted out, though she knew that was not the wisest thing to say, and it would do nothing to get him off her back. But something about this northern king was stealing her of her guard.
He wasn't at all like she'd have thought a mighty lord would be.
Indeed, her words seemed to only fuel him. He was moving closer to her now and there was a fire in his dark, vivid eyes. Oh dear. What had she done?
"Why would you want to hide from me?" he asked, his voice lower this time. His eyes burned her with their intensity and Lothíriel felt strangely breathless.
"Because..." she began, not sure how to finish that sentence. So, again she blurted out just the worst thing she could say: "Because of that look you're giving me, Sire."
His dark eyes widened just a little bit behind the mask, and if possible, the fire in them burned even more intense. Oh, Elbereth! She and her big mouth! Some day, it would get her killed.
"Servant or no, I'd like to hear your name", he informed her.
"No", Lothíriel said quickly. Looking around for a way of escape, she spotted Amrothos on the other side of the crowd. She'd have liked to shout for him, but she wasn't sure he'd have heard her, and anyway King Éomer would put together two and two and realise right away who she was.
"I beg of you, tell me who you are. A lady? A servant? An apparition or an elf?" he demanded more forcibly now.
"Perhaps I'm all of them", she said, trying to play some time.
But the song came to an end then and the dancers around them halted; Lothíriel knew now was as good as time as any for her to make an escape.
"Who are you?" asked King Éomer demanded one more time.
"Just a girl in a mask, Sire. Let us leave it at that, because I'm not sure you'd like the real me", she said.
He saw it coming and tried to grab her hand, but Lothíriel was faster than him; she dashed away beyond his reach and immediately headed for the double doors leading outside into the garden. From between two young ladies, under the extended arm of a vassal of her father, through a group of five high lords conversing... from behind, she heard his voice: "Make way!"
The cool evening air hit her face. There was the scent of spring in it and the garden was very beautiful, but she did not waste time admiring her surroundings. Instead the princess practically dived behind one particularly large bush and held her breath.
The King of Rohan appeared only seconds later. The look on his face was intense and urgent when he halted and scanned his surroundings... trying to see her. She very nearly called out then, like an impulse told her. But Lothíriel remained silent.
He is a king. He can't be my...
"Is something amiss, my friend?" spoke a voice, interrupting her wildly racing thoughts. It was King Elessar, who had been out in the garden as well and now approached the tall golden-haired man.
"Did you see a young woman in green run outside?" asked the King of Rohan, and hope coloured his voice. Lothíriel nearly cursed out loud, and she had to bite her fist to keep quiet. Don't let him see me...
"I didn't see anyone, though I thought I heard someone run out. Did something happen?" asked the King of Gondor.
The hopeful look on the Rohir's face died and he seemed to lose some of the great force of his presence.
"I just managed to scare away one woman whose presence I've enjoyed since coming here", he said, shaking his head.
Hmph. You didn't scare me. I just don't know what to do with you.
The King of Rohan truly was a bewildering man.
A/N: Hahahaha, guess what I did last night.
Good part was indeed spent in writing (damn you, my crazy muse), but truthfully speaking I did have parts of this chapter ready when I started to fill in the gaps. Here's at last some proper interaction between Éomer and Lothíriel, hopefully you like it!
So, our stubborn princess has understood she can't avoid meeting Éomer officially, and here in this chapter you see her solution to that problem. I would like to emphasize the fact that it's something she comes up with very quickly in panic, and though it appears to be rather effective it also leaves her feeling really bad. Perhaps she doesn't realise it herself but the King of Rohan has already her under his spell...
As you can see, I also added a scene where Lothíriel meets Legolas. That was necessary for several reasons actually. Maybe you noticed that I sneaked in a reference to Tauriel (the female warrior elf in the upcoming Hobbit movie), with whom Legolas appears to have a good relationship. I know Peter Jackson's adaptations are a controversial topic among the fans, and I respect your opinion if you consider Tauriel an unnecessary addition. However, I must say personally I'm excited to see what they're going to do with her character, and I seriously hope she's going to be something amazing. But no worries, this is not going to turn into a Hobbit fanfic! :D
Also I added some musings of Legolas himself, because I think he'd find Lothíriel's reaction to Amrothos' news strange. And at least I find the idea of Elvish confusion at Mannish activities pretty entertaining. :D Anyway, I do believe it is canon that Men have greater control over their own fates - that because they're not tied to the destiny of Arda they can operate outside the Great Music (Ainulindalë that is) and I enjoy scenes and outcomes of that fact which take Elves aback.
Thanks for reading and reviewing!
Quote in the beginning originally by William Shakespeare in "Hamlet".
Sandy-wmd - And that was only just the beginning!
Kiiimberly - His reaction indeed was not the best one... but then again, he still has to make the connection between the archer and the princess in orange. And yes, Lothíriel's actions have not been very wise, but at this point of her life she isn't a wise person. And Éomer doesn't help it, I must say. ;)
Talia119 - Does this chapter answer to your inquiries at all? :D I hope you liked it!
Oh, I know that feeling. Before I used to think the same, but I've found that just publishing the story as one writes it also puts on you this kind of pressure to get the next chapter done. And having such an amazing readers like I have helps too! :)