Oft a battleground is found in one's heart, and casualties are not the dead and the dying, but the lies that we tell ourselves; but sometimes their death is the slow waning of an injured man. - Queen Melannen of Gondor, consort of King Turambar
Chapter 4
The last night's ball had left Éomer with peculiar mood. On one hand, he had been disappointed to see the Lady Archer disappear so... but on the other hand the reunion, no matter how brief, had restored his hope. Surely these chance meetings did not keep happening for nothing... surely she'd happen on him again when he least expected it.
Nevertheless, upon returning to the ball with Aragorn he had wondered just who she was, and so he had asked one elderly courtier if she had known the strange woman. Perhaps a more experienced member of nobility might even know her, if she was a lady?
However, inquiries had proved uninformative: "Oh, my lord, there's just so many new faces here in the city, and those masks don't help at all with the recognition. You see, the court life was almost non-existent during the past few years, and many young and fresh faces now have taken the place of those who are gone..."
Well, he would find her again, and he'd solve the mystery of this strange woman even if it were the end of him.
On the morrow he had other concerns than peculiar ladies, however. Just as Elfhelm had ever since the Host had departed for Morannon, he rode down to the fields of Pelennor, where the Rohirrim were camped for the time being. They even had a tent for him there, though because of Aragorn's insistence he lodged in the Citadel. Tent had its uses, though: it served as something as a centre of command and every morning he'd receive reports from the captains of each éored. They would inform him of the happenings in the camp and the needs of the men and horses. Usually nothing severe rose and Elfhelm had offered he could take care of the matter, but Éomer had told his Marshal that if he were going to be a king he ought to know what was going on among his men. That was, after all, what Uncle would have done.
The reports that day were mostly ordinary. Though there had been quite a few parties in the camp major fights had not broken out and men remained in good spirits. They were still drunk on the victory and the city offered enough entertainment for them for the time being. Even so, the young king did emphasise to the captains of éoreds that they keep up peace and make sure that Riders did not cause trouble in the city.
Lord Erkenband had sent as many men as he could as well, though majority of his riders had stayed back to guard the Mark, and those who had joined the Muster were commanded by Captain Feran. He was a distant relative of Éomer's and was of Eorling nobility, though he wasn't considered a member of the House of Eorl. The captain was descended from Folcwine King's sister's daughter and his fathers had served under the Lords of Hornburg since Thengel had become king. Though his reports did not vary much from those other captains gave, Éomer's attention was engaged by something about the man, though he didn't know what that was. Feran was as any man of the Mark: tall and strong, with very light hair and reddish beard. He was what women would have considered fair to look upon with his even features and easy smiles.
When the captains had gone and the King was left with his Marshal, Éomer turned to look at Elfhelm.
"What do you make of Feran, my friend?" he asked. If receiving reports had taught him something so far, it was that he should learn to know his Riders better... especially those who lead them. In that, being a king was similar to being a marshal.
Elfhelm considered the question in silence for a while before he spoke, which was telling at least. When he spoke, it was carefully.
"He's a good rider and a good captain. He gets things done", he replied. Éomer gestured towards the other chair in the tent – in gatherings such as the one before it was given that only the King would be seated – and his friend sat down.
"And what kind of a man do you take him for?" he inquired then.
"In my own opinion? I can't say, as I don't know him that well", Elfhelm said at length. Then after a moment of hesitation, he continued in a slightly quieter voice, "But I know Erkenbrand doesn't like Feran too much."
"Why is that?" asked the King of Rohan.
"You remember the stories about Fengel King's time? And of people he surrounded himself with?" asked back his Marshal, looking slightly troubled now.
"Of course I do. What of it?" Éomer wondered. How could he not remember Fengel? Though the man had died decades ago, the memories of his rule persisted. His greed and malice had nearly ruined the realm and it had sent his son Thengel away from Rohan... the Prince had lived in Gondor until the death of Fengel, and returned to claim his throne only very reluctantly. It was considered Thengel's aversion towards his very inheritance had caused a drift in the realm, and it had taken years for Théoden to heal.
"Feran's great-grandfather was one of Fengel's favourites – almost as bad as the King himself. Erkenbrand seems to think Feran takes after him too much. And..." Elfhelm spoke, but then fell silent in the middle of his sentence. That made his king frown.
"And what?" asked Éomer, studying the face of the Marshal attentively.
"I shouldn't speak ill of a man I don't know myself. It is not right", said his friend awkwardly.
"Elfhelm, you can tell me. Though I must consider the matter as the King I would want you to speak to me as a friend", he coaxed in a softer tone. The other man sighed and gave a nod to the young king.
"All right. Just so you remember I do not know if it is true, and that Erkenbrand might not be right... anyway, what he told me after the Battle of Helm's Deep was that Feran's line would not have grieved to see you die in that fight – that they'd have tried to claim the kingship after Théoden", Elfhelm said quietly.
Éomer's first instinct was to argue that did not make too much sense, considering Éowyn would have been Uncle's obvious choice in that case, and anyway he hadn't ever heard that such thoughts lived in the minds of those whose claim to the throne was almost non-existent. But perhaps that was just the point – maybe Erkenbrand had made a wrong judgement. On the other hand, it was not like Erkenbrand to make such mistakes.
Altogether it sounded like it would be wise to keep an eye on Feran, just to make sure. The last thing Rohan needed right now was civil unrest. Still, he hoped the matter would solve itself: once he'd go home and settle down, he was sure his people would too.
"I see", he spoke at last. "Thank you for telling me, Elfhelm."
That brought a slight smile to the other man's face.
"Well, you are the king. And you should know what happens in your realm", he said.
"Aye, that is true", Éomer agreed softly. Resting his chin on his hand, he let out a sigh, "It's not going to be easy, is it?"
"No, I suppose not. The Mark has suffered much and there are many wounds that need healing", allowed his friend in a compassionate voice, seeing right into what he meant. Then Elfhelm's smile widened, "But you will do just fine. I know it. And you can count on your men. Your own Riders have always respected and loved you, and I am sure all Eorlingas will share the sentiment."
That did make the young king feel a bit better. He gave a half-smile to the Marshal.
"Thank you, my friend. I appreciate your words, though I have a feeling I'll be needing more than just the love of the people. And that is good men, like yourself", he said.
"Just be a king we can love, and good men will flock to you", Elfhelm replied simply.
Outside the tent they were joined by Éothain and some guards, and the King and his men made a walk through the camp. Though those words had mostly been spoken in jest last night, it wasn't untrue that a king should attend to his people, and anyway it was pleasant to see some Rohirric faces for change. The sound of their tongue was welcome too, and as the young king passed through the camp he exchanged greetings with some of the riders and asked if they were faring well. They appeared to be light-heartedly curious about their new king, for which he could hardly blame them.
It was midday that they turned back towards the city; Éomer had been thinking of taking a look at the markets of the city, as he was for change having afternoon clear of any social engagements. He took along but a few of his men, because flooding the streets of Mundburg with an entire Rohirric guard would not help him to blend in.
Arriving to the markets and perceiving the busy comings and goings of it he was reminded of how quiet and empty the city had been when he had first entered the city after the Battle of Pelennor fields. But since then people had returned, and now there was new kind of bustling there: just the presence of Aragorn seemed to have brought new prosperity here. But it was more than his presence. It was also the promise of a peaceful, prosperous future.
The King and his escort didn't earn any curious looks, which was likely thanks to the Rohirric presence in the immediate vicinity of the city. Fair-haired riders were not an uncommon sight these days, and evidently to the common folk his face was not so recognisable either. After all, he was not arrayed in his rather distinctive armour or some of his finer coats, and so he could make his way as any other man through the crowd.
But long didn't this outing go, for after a while of strolling in the crowd and occasionally taking a look on goods presented on stands he eventually arrived to where some tanners and blacksmiths were selling their products... and there, by one stand, he saw her.
What were the odds?
As the day was nice and pleasant, Lothíriel had decided to go down to the markets and take a look around for new reins for her horse. The old ones were starting to fall apart, and the task of buying replacement was also a good reason to get out of the house. Father was still disapproving of her and all through the breakfast he had given her frowning looks, but at least it didn't seem like he knew she had sneaked into the ball last night.
Fortunately she had got away without gaining any more notice than she had already received from the King of Rohan, though she did wonder what was the day's gossip about the man's dancing habits. Her brother eventually enlightened her on that matter and said ladies were very curious about who was the stranger to have so caught the King's eye that he'd even ask her to dance. Apparently Amrothos had recognised her right away and it had been necessary for him to exit the celebration for a while just to laugh to himself for a bit. Lothíriel wasn't sure what was so funny about it. Then again, her brother had always had a strange sense of humour.
But now she was having other concerns, and by the tanner's stand she was taking a look on the reins he had made. It was then that the fates threw at her another unexpected encounter.
"I wouldn't buy those if I were you", spoke a voice from behind her shoulder, and she turned to see none other than the King of Rohan standing there, wearing a charming smile. At this point, she wasn't even surprised. What was it about this man that always made him find her?
"Oh, why would that be?" she asked casually, as though they had been talking moments ago and he had not only just appeared behind her.
"That bit part of the reins – it looks like it would be uncomfortable for your horse", said Rohan's king.
"Excuse me, but my reins are perfectly good!" said the tanner with some indignation; the horselord merely answered him with a pointed look. The man got the point quickly enough and went away muttering, evidently to serve other customers.
"Look at what you did now. You scared away the poor fellow – it'll be a wonder if he ever sells me anything", Lothíriel scolded the Rohir, who was inspecting other goods on the stand.
"You shouldn't pay for such sloppy work anyway", he said nonchalantly. He smiled then, "And in an exchange for a name I could provide you with the best reins you and your horse could ever hope for."
"Naturally", she said and made a face at him. As she turned from the stand, towards no direction in particular, he followed her. Of course he wouldn't let her leave just so... she wondered if she could make a run of it – surely he wouldn't chase after her?
"I was sad to see you go like that last night. I'd have asked at least for one more dance", he said then,adjusting his long stride to a pace to keep up by her side. A swift gesture towards his guards had the men falling back behind them. The command appeared to come most naturally of this King of Rohan, and she remembered hearing he had served as a Marshal before the death of Théoden King. That was, as far as she understood, a position of importance and prestige in the Rohirric society.
"Well, it was starting to get a bit, hmm, intense", she said awkwardly after weighing her words for a moment. She continued in a slightly lighter tone, "And I believed we had insulted people's sensitivities enough with our so called dancing."
"So called dancing indeed. You, my Lady Archer, should be introduced some Rohirric dancing", he informed her. Then he turned his gaze at her and gave the princess an appealing, wide-eyed look.
"Could you perhaps tell me your name?" asked the Rohir. Lothíriel groaned; of course she should have known he wouldn't stop asking. Why did he have to be so damned stubborn?!
"My father sometimes calls me Garafiell. It means Little Wolf", she said at length. That wasn't likely to lead the horselord to the right tracks, was it?
"So your father also agrees you're a wild beast?" he asked jovially.
"Yes, and sometimes he encourages it even. Especially against pig-headed Rohirrim", she shot back. But that only made him smile and she wondered what kind of talk would it even take to scare him away.
And yet... did she want him gone, then? That was starting to turn out a very, very good question.
"What kind of a father is he, then? If he is a lord, why has he allowed his daughter to learn the skills of war?" King Éomer asked. He kept glancing at her as if he couldn't quite get enough of seeing her face.
"My father is- oh, wait a minute. I'm not going to tell you about my father", Lothíriel answered and made a face at him.
"Why not?" he asked.
"Because if I answer your question, it would confirm whether I'm of a noble family, and that would help you to narrow down the amount of men you need to bully into presenting you with their daughters", she answered. He sighed dramatically but there was a glint in his eyes that revealed he was enjoying this banter. And... looking at him, she realised she enjoyed it too. That she could be so straight-forward and blunt and shameless with this man was not something she was used to, but it felt actually very good.
"You see right through me, don't you?" he asked. Lothíriel snorted.
"You're very transparent, Sire", she told him. Her words made him laugh and the rich sound of it made her shiver for a reason she could not name.
They had strolled through the crowd, not paying much attention to other people, and Lothíriel wasn't even sure where they were walking. But now she shook herself and tore away her focus from the man beside herself; apparently he didn't only have a way of finding her but also of distracting her.
"Tell me at least if you live here in the city. Do you have family here?" he inquired then, re-engaging her attention.
"I really shouldn't tell you anything. You're just going to use all information to find out who I am", she said carefully. That brought a frown on his face.
"You make me sound like something sly and scheming, Garafiell", said the King of Rohan with some displeasure.
"Oh, I know you're not like that, your kingship", she said quickly, and something that resembled a smile touched briefly his face, but then a sharper expression appeared in his eyes.
"Would it be so bad to tell me who you really are, then?" he inquired.
"Enough questions for one day. I already gave you a name, and truthful one at that", answered Lothíriel, placing her hands on her hips.
"Then could I at least ask you to show me around? This city continues to perplex me, and I have yet to figure where I could find a tavern that sells some decent ale. My men and I have not seen any in such a long time that we might just forget the taste if this continues", he said then, and again a softer look settled on those features that could seem so fierce and formidable.
"So now you plan to make me drink myself silly and pry out answers while I have no self-control?" Lothíriel shot back. He rolled his eyes up towards heavens, which made her giggle despite herself, and she decided a pint couldn't hurt.
"What next? Are you going to accuse me of planning your kidnap? Be careful, or I might just do that", he threatened.
"You wouldn't be able. I would run, and kidnap you as a retaliation", Lothíriel informed him with a sweet smile.
"Aye. You would do that, Garafiell", agreed the King of Rohan. He smiled too.
She lead him and his men into a tavern near the market. It was peaceful but also clean and respectable enough to show to a king, though her father might have been appalled to hear his daughter even knew alehouses in the city. But being the sister of Amrothos, one couldn't really avoid that sort of information.
The King's guards appeared delighted for the chance of some proper ale, and fell away to a distance that was respectable but still close enough for them to jump for the protection of their liege-lord if needed – though a quiet little tavern wasn't so likely to provide disturbances grave enough to threaten the life of a warrior as accomplished as King Éomer. The man himself was ordering them pints, but when Lothíriel reached for her purse to pay for her own drink, he lifted up a hand.
"This one is on me", he told her and she decided not to argue with him about this one thing.
"Well, how is it?" asked Lothíriel when they had pints of ale before them. "Does it fulfill the Rohirric standards?"
The horselord took a taste of his drink; at least he didn't spit it out, which she took for a good sign.
"It's adequate", he said at last. Lothíriel sipped ale too, and to her it didn't taste any different than ale ever did. She was familiar with the drink, though it wasn't really her favourite.
"Just adequate?" she asked.
"Aye. You should taste the ale they brew in Meduseld, and you would understand", he answered and gave her a charming smile. But then the smile turned into a slightly odd expression.
"What is it?" Lothíriel inquired, suddenly concerned. "Is your drink poisoned or something? I swear if you die on me-"
"No, no. I was just imagining you in the Golden Hall. The idea is very pleasant, I find", he told her.
"Of course it is", she chortled and took a long gulp of ale. Putting down her tankard she took a note he was watching her now, wearing a thoughtful look. She asked: "Why are you staring at me?"
"I am just trying to figure you out", answered the Rohirric king and tilted his head slightly.
"What have you got so far?" Lothíriel asked, trying for a light tone. His eyes remained on her still and it made her feel kind of jittery, and so she turned her gaze back on her tankard. She'd have taken another sip right then but drinking too fast could prove fatal.
"You can't be a lady, can you? You fight and ride and drink ale. If you grew a beard you could be an Eorling", said the horselord, and never turned his stupidly intense gaze away. Those dark eyes, burning with such unguarded emotion as she had never seen before... damned man, making her think like this!
"What, are you planning on hiring me as a Rider?" she asked to hide her thoughts. Soon as the words were out of her mouth, she had to grin. The Gondorian society would never stop speaking of it.
"Oh, most certainly. What would be your preferred salary?" asked the King. Now his eyes held a humorous glint, but behind it she thought she could still see something more.
"I don't know. A dragon's hoard, maybe?" answered the princess sweetly.
"Very well then. I shall make inquiries about hoards right away", he said nonchalantly and took a mouthful of his ale.
She did the same and spent a moment considering the drink. This banter came so easily... and thinking of it, she wasn't sure when she had last felt so relaxed while conversing with a man (which made no sense, considering their past meetings and the fact that she was effectively making him think she was two different people). Well, the men of her family were one thing, and so was Legolas – the Elf was so different from Men that he didn't count. But as far as Gondorian men went, they were usually horrified by her or felt personally insulted if she showed her true colours to them. Though they might tolerate her wielding weapons – the times had been violent after all – they certainly didn't tolerate the things she said. And they seemed to think woman wearing breeches or being a better rider but a worse dancer than her male partner were bad things. No doubt this ale-drinking would have done more than just raise eyebrows.
However, King Éomer appeared to have nothing against her rough edges. Was it a thing only he did or were all Rohirrim so easygoing?
"Is something wrong, Little Wolf?" his voice interrupted her thoughts then.
"I was just thinking", she answered, worrying her lip.
"What is it, to have you so grimacing?" he asked and considered her. In his eyes, there was again that expression like he was trying to penetrate her mind. Well, she could understand this was frustrating for him, but it wasn't like she could just spill out the truth to him. For one, she was enjoying this conversation too much for the moment.
"I was wondering if the Rohirric society would be as approving of my behaviour as you are, Sire", she said gingerly. She could give him that much honesty... but then, as Garafiell she had never spoken to him anything else than what was on her mind.
He shrugged nonchalantly.
"We have our own prejudices about the Gondorians, so I imagine you would be considered extraordinary... but Rohirrim are a wilful and spirited people, so you'd fit beautifully among us", he replied with a half-smile on his face.
"I wonder if that is a good or bad thing", Lothíriel said doubtfully. "For someone like me, who is-"
"Who is what?" he asked quickly, having rightly noticed she had been on the point of giving some hint as to who she was.
"Nevermind", she answered and took a long sip of her ale, "Though I must wonder, would even Rohirrim welcome someone who threatened their King and then spied on him on his morning swim?"
The horselord chuckled, and if she could read his face at all it looked like those were fond memories for him. Fancy that.
"Oh, they'd just love it if they ever heard, you can count on that. Rohirrim love a good laugh", he said and shook his head, as if remembering something amusing.
The Rohirrim would love her for it... suddenly, an errant question came to her mind: would their king love her for it too?
But as soon as that thought occurred to her she wanted to kick herself for such idiotic musings. She downed the last of her ale and began to wonder what would be the swiftest way of excusing herself. The King of Rohan's presence was obviously starting to affect the workings of her mind in a most unwanted manner.
Now the man was watching her with an expression as though he was waiting for something to happen, like she'd grow herself another pair of arms. So Lothíriel lifted her eyebrows and asked, "What are you staring at, Sire?"
"I am waiting for the effects of that ale to start show on you. Not that it would be wrong – I'd look after you. Are you not feeling drunk at all?" he inquired. He too had finished his ale by now. She snorted at him.
"What do you take me for? I'm far more resilient than that", she informed him (though she did note she'd have absolutely trusted him if she did end up drunk as a skunk). Indeed, there was another thing one couldn't avoid as a sibling to Amrothos. But that was also something Father ought not to know.
"Perhaps you are elf after all", he mused thoughtfully.
"You just keep guessing, O King of Rohan", said the princess and didn't even try to hide her smug tone. "Now, are we finished here, or is there maybe some other place your lordship needs to be escorted to? I should be on my way home."
She made for the door, and the horselord and his men came after her. Outside it was already afternoon.
"I don't suppose it would be of use to follow you?" King Éomer inquired in a tone that sounded at least half serious.
With a half-smile, she answered, "No, it wouldn't. You'd only get lost trying to keep up with me, Sire, and probably get yourself killed or something like that. And then a lot of people would be very angry with me."
She expected the King Éomer to say something humorous to that, but instead of a wry remark he frowned and looked at her in a way that held nothing of the lightness of their conversation before.
"Must you really go?" he asked quietly. This seemed to genuinely sadden him.
"Yes, I must. Why can't we just bid farewell here and promise not to talk to each other again?" she asked... though somehow that didn't seem so right. The look in his eyes became even more melancholy, and there was a strange ache in her chest; with something that resembled surprise, she realised she did not want this man to be unhappy.
"I do not wish to make such promise. And I would not wish to see you gone for good", he told her. But then a small smile made its way to his face. He continued, "To be honest, I do not think this is the last time I will see you."
"Hmph. You do seem to have a tendency of happening on me when I least expect it", Lothíriel agreed dryly. The sad look on his face was replaced by a smile.
"Don't you see? Fates obviously are pulling us together. Why do you fight it so, Garafiell?" he asked.
"Because I'm a stubborn thing and like I told you, my good King, you would not like the real me very well", she replied. Her words didn't seem to impress him, though.
"With all due respect, I would rather make that judgement myself", he stated firmly.
"Of course you would, Sire", she said, not quite able to hold back a small sigh. But then all thoughts left her mind, for the insufferable man went and picked up her hand, and gave a graceful little kiss to her knuckles; his hot breath was like a caress on her skin, and the touch of his lips had her heart making a back-flip.
"Until we next see, Little Wolf", he said, holding her eyes with his own... and in those dark depths there was again that fire she had seen last night.
Burned she fled.
The only way Lothíriel was able to get that annoying man out of her head was a furious session of hacking a dummy with a practice sword at the training grounds (shooting arrows after drinking ale would have been a poor idea), and afternoon was turning late when she returned home. Father and her brothers were out, and Aredhel informed her they had some business with the King Elessar.
Her sister-in-law was in the middle of some needlework, at which she had always been masterful; sometimes, Aredhel would try and teach some of it to the younger woman but usually those attempts ended in frustration and sometimes in tears. Now, as Lothíriel collapsed on a sofa and let out a heavy sigh, she looked up from her work and cast a keen look at the princess.
"Well, what is it?" she asked. Of course she'd see through her husband's sister!
For a moment, Lothíriel considered the ills and benefits of arguing nothing was wrong, but eventually she decided it wasn't worth the effort.
"What... what do they say about the King of Rohan? What kind of man do people take him for?" she asked at length.
Aredhel lifted her eyebrows.
"Wouldn't you know that, though? Or why else did you say the other night you didn't want to meet him... not to mention that show you put up when he was here?" she asked, which made Lothíriel groan. She should have known Aredhel had not forgotten about these things. Not to mention she would make her own conclusions about it all, which usually tended to be closer to the truth than Lothíriel liked.
"Please, sister. Tell me what you've heard", Lothíriel pleaded and assumed a wide-eyed expression. It worked its magic, though the other woman did sigh and roll her eyes.
"Well, one could perhaps say you're not so wrong to avoid him", she said then gingerly. Not that the princess needed really advice on how to tread with King Éomer, but second opinion couldn't hurt. And Aredhel usually had good opinions, not to mention she was aware of the gossip of the day. Lothíriel wasn't sure how that was, considering her sister-in-law didn't usually participate it herself.
"Why is that?" she asked, turning to lay on her stomach and leaning her chin on the palm of her hand.
"Apparently he's very popular with the ladies", Aredhel said with slight disapproving tone, turning back to her needlework.
"Oh, I know that. I almost feel bad for the man", said Lothíriel. It was a wonder he had had time last night to even notice her.
"I didn't mean that. What I purpose to say is that Rohan's king is..." her sister-in-law said, then hesitating as if it were too crude for her to speak of. That could was probably true.
"... a ladies' man and a ruffian. No, that doesn't surprise me", snorted the princess and turned around to lay on her back again. Oh, she was starting to have a good idea of what the man wanted of her – or one of her identities, at least. She glanced at Aredhel, "Doesn't that put off the unmarried maidens?"
The other woman shrugged.
"Be it as may, he is a king", she said nonchalantly. "Marrying him will mean a crown anyway."
Lothíriel made a vague sound of contempt and stared at the ceiling in silence for a while. She didn't expect Aredhel to say more, but then Elphir's wife continued, "It's not just that, though. A mere ladies' man would not mind the abundance of female attention. However, the word is some woman has now caught his eye, and he barely pays any attention to other ladies. I didn't see it myself but apparently she is also the only woman he has even asked to dance."
Seeing her indifference, Aredhel frowned, "That is a big deal, sister. You can tell a lot about a man by his dancing."
"I'm sure you can", Lothíriel mumbled, though her sister-in-law didn't seem to have noticed it her indifference was not because of disinterest. It was just that she had been too busy mulling over the information Aredhel had given her.
But the older woman did see there was something going on in her mind. Staring intently at her, Aredhel asked: "What is it, sister?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all", said the princess quickly, but heat rushed to her cheeks and her sister-in-law narrowed her eyes.
"It's you, isn't it? That's what your ridiculous performance was about?" she asked, and Lothíriel knew there was no use in denying it. Groaning, she hit a pillow and hoped it might have been the horselord who was causing her all this annoyance.
"Yes. That is me. I suppose? Unless there are other idiotic princesses running about, making him believe she's actually two different women", she said miserably.
"Lothíriel, what have you done?"
Halfway through his report on the wounded lodging in the Houses of Healing, Elfhelm at last noticed that his King was not listening to him.
Instead, the man sat staring out of the window, absent-mindedly fingering a quil in his hand. On his face there was a frown but it wasn't the stern kind; instead, Elfhelm even thought he saw something deeply confused on that face. The young king wasn't usually the one to so disregard important matters, especially not the kind that had to do with the well-being of his men, but now he wasn't even aware that the Marshal was still in the room and talking.
"Sire? Sire! Éomer!" Elfhelm called with some frustration, and only raising his voice finally brought back the attention of his liege-lord.
"What is it? Did you say something?" asked Éomer, straightening up on his seat.
"I suppose I'm not wrong to assume you've heard nothing I've said?" Elfhelm sighed, rubbing his forehead. At least his friend had the modesty to look embarrassed.
"I beg your pardon, Elfhelm. It wasn't my intention to ignore you so", Éomer said and a focused look came to his face once more. "I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to repeat what you said."
The Marshal considered the Lord of the Mark before him in silence, but then instead of continuing to his report he decided to try and find what this was about. He knew Éomer was not fond of speaking of things that were troubling him (especially if they were the personal kind), although he otherwise could be called blunt even in Rohirric standards.
"Sire, is there... if you'd like to relieve your heart and mind, I would listen – and help, if I can", Elfhelm said at last, making his liege-lord frown once more.
"You're a good friend, Elfhelm, but I do not think there is anything to be done about this", he said reluctantly. The Marshal narrowed his eyes and searched the face of the man before him.
"It's about that strange archer woman, isn't it? The one you told me about after the ball last night – the one you danced with?" he asked. His King sighed and slumped in his chair, throwing back his head.
"I can't stop thinking of her and it is driving me quite insane. I need to find her", said the King of Rohan, rubbing his face in frustration.
"Then go and find her and be done with it! Béma knows you don't make a habit of holding back when some lass catches your eye", Elfhelm said; he couldn't help but note he sounded a lot like the very frustrated father of a young fickle man.
"No. This is different, Elfhelm. I want more than to just bed her. I need to know who she is... I need to know her", said the younger man. Now he was looking profoundly dejected. The Marshal blinked before he could come up with an answer. This was the first time he had seen his friend so... so love-sick.
"And then what? Éomer, what if she is a commoner after all? There's no way you can marry a woman of low birth. The court is swarming with high-born Gondorian ladies, and they are a very lovely and accomplished lot – which you would see too if you for one moment stopped obsessing about this strange woman. It would be considered an insult if you chose some peasant as your wife when you have access to the noblest unmarried ladies in all the West!" Elfhelm lectured his king. He tried to sound forcible now, because this concern was more than reasonable, and likely shared by all of the Mark. After all, House of Eorl had grown dangerously small, and there was no heir in the land. He couldn't waste time by chasing after some women of the common folk!
"But if I could just find her... she might very well be a lady too", muttered the King of the Mark, not turning to look at his Marshal.
"It is very unlikely that she has even one drop of noble blood in her veins. You've seen how the ladies are here in Gondor – how they behave and conduct themselves. And all you've told me about this mysterious woman suggests she has no idea of proper ladylike manners. Do you think these Gondorian lords would ever let their daughters learn the skills of war-waging? How could someone like that be a member of a great house?" Elfhelm pointed out, but his observations were obviously not very well appreciated by his friend. And how could the Marshal blame him, really? What awaited Éomer in the Mark was a land that desperately needed restoring and rebuilding, and even in more peaceful times the crown was not an easy burden for a man to carry. To wish for a companion he could love and cherish, to have some happiness in his life, was not an evil thing to hope for. And the young king was not known for just falling head over heels for every woman that came his way.
Moreover, Elfhelm had seen how the stranger woman had made his liege-lord laugh at the ball. How long had it been since he had last seen Éomer laugh with such abandon? Years? Béma's beard! Why did such a woman have to be a commoner?
His friend said nothing, but he could see these words had not affected Éomer's mood too brightly. Eventually he did speak however: "Do you think I could sneak away at night, and leave this king business for someone else to attend to?"
"You're the only king we have. And you're the one Théoden chose", Elfhelm reminded him, though he knew him well enough to know that Éomund's son would never utter something like that but half-heartedly. The very fabric of his mind would have to be mutilated and altered for him to not do what was right.
Éomer snorted.
"Sometimes I think he didn't choose very well", he grumbled.
"No one asks me but I think he did", Elfhelm argued and gave a comforting smile to his friend. "Don't worry, old fellow. You'll find her again, somehow."
A/N: And here's an update for Friday!
I know this pace may seem a bit slow for now, but I want to properly establish the relationship between our main characters and develop it for a bit before I move forwards. As you can see Éomer remains oblivious to Lothíriel's identity but perhaps her walls have started to crack now...
You might be wondering about that bit considering Feran, but I can't really say much about him for the moment. You'll have to wait and see.
A word on canon: Folcwine was the great-grandfather of Théoden. He is not documented to have sisters but that shouldn't in my opinion be a problem. Canonically we know he had three sons, eldest of whom were twins who died in a war in Harad. So his youngest son Fengel succeeded him, but the new king was indeed a greedy man, and his son Thengel eventually left the realm to live in Gondor, where he met and married Morwen Steelsheen. Thengel was the father of Théoden and the maternal grandfather of Éomer and Éowyn.
Thanks for reading and reviewing!
Kiiimberly - In time, they will! :)
Sandy-wmd - Glad to hear that!
Talia119 - Then I can only say I've done my job well. :)
annafan - Oh, this all probably remains kind of unoriginal for the moment, but it's mostly for a soft fall before what I mean to do later on. If I meant to keep this story just as "how Éomer and Lothíriel met" I'd have re-thought a lot of things of course. But hopefully what I'll bring in when part 1 is done will be a bit more original. And anyway, the important thing is that the readers are entertained!