Chapter 5
Aldburg, April the 11th, 3018
The sun glared bright on the snow capping the peaks of the White Mountains and a light breeze occasionally swept the plains. It was cold but with the sun warming her face, enjoyable as well: "I have to admit it, this is beautiful".
"Even though it's not Dol Amroth?", Runhild teased her with a grin.
Lothíriel stretched her neck and wrapped a scarf around her shoulders: "Actually, as weird as it may sound, it reminds me of it".
"Because it's a sea of grass?".
"No, because of the mountains".
Runhild paused and stared at her, then at the towering peaks: "The mountains remind you of the sea?".
"Yes".
"Well I've never seen the sea, but I must admit I imagine it to be quite different from a mountain!".
Lothíriel chuckled: "Of course it is, you silly. Yet somehow, they share the same type of majesty, of grandiosity. One looks at them and can't help but feeling intimidated and at peace at the same time, you know?"
Runhild wasn't however paying her musing any attention. She acknowledged her words with a distracted nod and after much rummaging, she pulled out of her saddlebags enough food to feed five people at least: cheese, dried meat, bread, sweet pies, fruits…by the look of it, her maid must have lead a full-scale raid in Aldburg's kitchens and left nothing behind!
"Unless this friend of yours is very hungry and hasn't eaten in a week, I dare say you took way too much food, Runhild!".
"Wilrun is a good eater, I am hungry and you should be too. Now if only the damn girl would deign to show up: I have no idea how she manages to be always so late, really!".
Lothíriel turned towards the city and spotted a figure passing through the gates: "Could that be her?".
"Woman. Chestnut horse. Riding like she has Sauron on her trail – or, more likely, like she is monstrously late for a breakfast appointment. Yes, that's definitely her".
After a breakneck gallop, Wilrun slowed down her horse to a canter and nimbly jumped down the saddle: "I know, I know: I'm late! I'm sorry but my brother decided to throw a tantrum and…".
"We are not interested in your pathetic excuses!", Runhild cut her short, crossing her arms in front of her: "Keeping Lady Lothíriel waiting for you was very rude!".
Wilrun turned as red as beetroot and gave her a hasty bow: "I-I'm sorry, my Lady. It was not my intention, truly!".
"It's alright, no need to apologize: Runhild is teasing you and besides, we too have only just arrived!", Lothíriel reassured her, only to be promptly rebutted by her maid.
"I was not teasing".
Wilrun threw one glove at her, then another: "Runhild, you are incorrigible! You know I'd have never been late on purpose!", she yelled before turning back towards her. "She has told me so much about you that I was really looking forward to finally meet you. I woke up much earlier than usual just to be sure I would not be running late. But of course, all that could go wrong, went even worse. I mean, look at me: I didn't even have the time to brush by hair!".
Lothíriel stared at her messy hair and felt laughter bubbling up inside her.
When Runhild had asked whether a friend of her could join them on their ride, she had been reluctant. She didn't know why, but she had never felt comfortable with making new acquaintances: not in Rohan, not in Dol Amroth. She had never been any good with small-talk and all that sort of skills – very much valued among noble ladies, required to engage a someone you've just met in a polite conversation. Most of the times, she either found herself struggling to find something sensible to say or – even worse, coping with an embarrassed silence. She had thought that having a stranger joining them would have made the day way less enjoyable, but of course it had been silly to have such concerns about one of Runhild's friend: "Do no fret, Wilrun: what matters is that you managed to make it. Now let us sit and enjoy our breakfast, shall we?".
"Gladly, my Lady", the girl told her with a smile, her cheeks finally turning a normal colour.
They sat around the refreshment that Runhild had so carefully prepared and like every morning since her arrival in Aldburg, the very first thing her maid passed her was the raspberries' confiture: "Wilrun likes this almost as much as you do: you better help yourself before she gobbles it all up!".
"I'd never do such thing! And besides, I have to admit I'm not very hungry…".
Lothíriel took a slice of sweet bread and spread a generous amount of confiture on it: "How come?".
"I suppose I enjoyed yesterday's dinner more than you did and indulged in too many pies", Wilrun explained with a nervous laughter.
"Oh, I didn't know you were there as well…".
Wilrun hesitated for a moment, then leant towards her and placed a hand on her knee: "May I ask you what happened? I mean you behaved quite rudely, if you don't mind me say so. But based on everything Runhild has told me, I have the distinct feeling there might have been a reason for it, one having to do with Meregith perhaps?".
"I just didn't like the food and…".
"You didn't like the food?", Runhild burst out laughing. "Please, let me explain this: a month ago, the cook had fried liver prepared for dinner. Meregith brought Lady Lothíriel a portion but she -and I, both failed to mention what exactly was in her plate: she took a bite, paled first, turned green then and finally ended up vomiting everything…on Meregith herself!".
This time, it was Lothíriel's turn to feel her cheeks burning: "It's not like I did it on purpose! But the taste of entrails – and liver especially, has always turned my stomach upside down and I can't help it, I can't control it!".
Runhild was laughing so hard, she had to put down her food least she might have chocked on it: "I know, but Meregith's face was priceless. Whenever I have a bad day, I think about it and my mood is immediately lifted!".
"So that's why Meregith insisted on cooking liver pies. We were all surprised as they are normally only served around Yule…".
"Yes. I asked the cook this morning and he said Meregith insisted that it was the only appropriate meal to celebrate Lady Lothíriel's first dinner in the hall. He even praised her thoughtfulness while all Meregith was doing, was trying to sabotage the night and avert the risk that – Bema forbid, Lord Éomer and Lady Lothiriel could start getting along. And I'm sorry to say that, but you", Runhild said pointing a finger at her, "played right into her game".
Lothíriel hunched her shoulders and looked away, while Wilrun seemed honestly puzzled: "But why? If that's what happened, why didn't you just say it?".
"What should I have said? My Lord, your housekeeper is purposefully serving me a dinner she knows will make sick in front of everybody?".
"Well yes!".
"She'd have denied it, Wilrun. In the past two months she has never – not even once, been kind or nice to me. Yet yesterday the moment I stepped in the hall, she was suddenly full of smiles and sweet swords. Had I accused her of plotting against me, how do you think it would have looked like?".
Runhild nodded: "You are right: Meregith would have denied any ill intention and to the most, her word is worth way more than yours. Had I been in your place, I'd have smiled, thanked the woman for the thoughtful dinner, apologized for not liking it and asked to be served something else. The dinner would have continued as if nothing had happened, Meregith's plan would have failed and she would have been livid".
Lothíriel hugged her knees to her chest and rested her head on top of them: Runhild and Wilrun were right, she had handled things precisely like Meregith had expected and she had made herself a fool in front of the whole hall and – most importantly, her husband.
Honestly, that was what bothered her the most.
After the morning spent in the solar, she had felt so relieved: despite the initial awkwardness, he had been kind to her and showed her a side of him that had aroused her curiosity. The way he had spoken of the room, the melancholy when he had mentioned how neglected it had been, his mother, her books… there had been so many questions she had wanted to ask him that in the end, she had found herself almost looking forward to their dinner!
What she hadn't expected though, was that his invite had been extended to half of the town as well. That itself had caught her off guard and well, Meregith had taken care of the rest: "I overreacted. I was angry and didn't think straight".
Runhild moved closer to her and passed an arm around her shoulders: "I know. We just have to make sure that Lord Éomer knows it as well".
On the other side of the blanket, Wilrun smiled: "Runhild is right. Besides, Lord Éomer himself is quite… temperamental, shall we say? If there's one person who should be able to forgive someone for overreacting, that's him!".
"You really think so?".
"Of course, my Lady: all will be good, don't worry. But can I ask you something else about yesterday?".
"Sure".
"Who was jealous and stupid? I've been thinking about it for the whole night: who was Gárwine speaking about? Meregith?".
"No, not Meregith. The two girls sitting on the other side of the table. Don't know their names".
Wilrun thought about it for a moment, then seemed to remember: "Ah, Gram and Torfrith's daughters! What about them?".
"They were talking about me, making fun, calling me ghost and all that sort of things".
"Ah, don't take it at heart, my Lady: those two are known for spending most of their time tattling about things that are none of their business. I can't stand them either but I'm glad Gárwine noticed what was going on and intervened. I honestly sighed in relief, seeing how he had managed to rescue the situation. But then you suddenly stood up and left: why? You seemed ad ease speaking to him…".
Lothíriel stiffened and glanced nervously towards Runhild: "I…I was suddenly feeling unwell and needed to return to my room because…because…".
"… because the smell of liver pies was making her feel terribly nauseous", Runhild came to her rescue.
"Oh, I'm sorry about that: I hope you weren't too sick".
"No, no: I was fine in the end. I just…".
"Overreacted?", Runhild finished the sentence for her.
Lothíriel smiled and nodded: indeed she had. Talking about Rohiril and the day she had gotten her, remembering how sick she had felt, she had started to feel agitated all over again. Afraid she might have had one of her crisis in front of everybody, she had returned to her room as fast as she could. But once she had reached her safe haven, the angst had subsided and melted away, replaced by anger and frustration for how she had managed to ruin everything back in the hall.
"It's understandable. Emptying your stomach in the middle of a hall crowded with strangers must be everyone's nightmare", Wilrun agreed as she gulped down her third slice of bread.
Runhild glared at her: "Didn't you say you weren't hungry? Yet here you are, devouring half of the breakfast while you talk about emptying one's stomach!".
Wilrun froze and made for saying something, but her mouth was full and it took her a solid minute to chew it down: "I'm sorry, I was taken about yesterday's story and didn't realize it I was eating so much!".
As she told it however, her hand was already reaching for a piece of cheese and Runhild had to slap it away: "Leave us something to eat, for Bema's sake!", she cried as she grabbed what was left of the food and brought it out of her reach.
Wilrun puffed her cheeks and laid back on the blanket: "Fine, I'm anyway full! Can you imagine how bossy she can be? I don't know how you cope with her, really!".
Lothíriel laughed and to her immense relief, the discussion moved away from the events of the previous evening and to more frivolous topics, namely Runhild and Wilrun childhood's escapades, most of which involved the former getting the latter in trouble.
Like that time when an eight-year-old Runhild decided she had had enough of ponies and attempted stealing the stallion of Wilrun's father, only to end up flying into the mud with a lump on her head and a badly battered pride. Or that time when following a quarrel with her older brother, Wilrun had let Runhild convince her that the best way to take revenge on him was serving him some disguised castor oil. The boy ended up at the healer – meaning Runhild's father, and the girls were grounded for a whole month.
Observing their friendship, the way they would finish each other's sentence, the way they always seemed to know what the other was thinking, Lothíriel found herself wishing she too had had something like that growing up. But aside from a few acquaintances, she had never had any real friend in Dol Amroth, she had never had someone with whom she could do silly things and get into trouble. She had Gaeril, of course: but her old maid had been more like a motherly figure than a friend. To be honest, her lack of friends had never bothered her in the past. Only now, looking at the chemistry between Runhild and Wilrun, did she realized what she had missed.
It was almost noon, when Wilrun snapped up from the blanket and pointed towards the city: "Hey, look at that!".
Lothíriel shielded her eyes and noticed a small caravan entering the city: "Today is market day, isn't it? They must be merchants".
Runhild also stood up, looking visibly excited: "Yes, but those are not your average merchants!".
Lothíriel took a better look but quite honestly, they looked to her like normal people on normal carts: "What's so special about them?".
Runhild dragged her on her feet and hastily collected blankets and whatever else was lying on the ground: "Those my Lady, are Gondorian merchants. And we are going to see what they have to sell: right now!".
Éomer knocked on the door and waited patiently for someone to come open the door: he wasn't sure how appropriate it was to visit a couple less than two days after the birth of their first child, but Brunwyn had insisted so much that there he was.
"Éomer, we weren't expecting you! Come in, come in", Gárwine welcomed him.
The house was unusually warm and from the next room, Éomer could hear Estwyn humming a song to young Freca: "I hope I'm not intruding: I passed by your house looking for you and your wife left me with little choice but to come here".
"I'm glad she did. Cenric is at the workshop, but Estwyn will be happy to see you. Can I offer you something to drink?".
"No, I'm fine".
"You said you came looking for me? Do I dare hoping is about yesterday?", Gárwine asked him as he dragged two chairs towards the fireplace.
Éomer smiled: "Straight to the point as usual. Yes, it's about yesterday".
"Spit it out then: what is it you wanted to ask me?".
"Just the opinion of someone who isn't so biased", he admitted.
As a matter of fact, he had been thinking incessantly about his wife since the moment she had left the hall the evening before. It seemed to him that there were two sides to her and he just could not understand who was her real self: she could be the most insufferable woman he had ever met and yet the day before there had also been moments when she had seemed to drop the mask and reveal herself to be just a young woman caught in a situation she did not know herself how to handle. The problem was that she could switch back and forth in such an unexpected, unpredictable way, that he never knew what to do around her!
"She didn't seem half the harpy everyone talks about, if that's what you're asking".
"I thought you'd say that. I just can't seem to understand her".
"I'm afraid I don't know her nearly enough to help you with that. One thing struck me about her however: we always picture noblewoman – Gondorian ones especially, to be this kind of self-confident creatures. Yet she looked more like a normal girl of her age: timid, a bit insecure perhaps. In hindsight, hosting such big feast in her honour was not a good idea: something more intimate would have suited her better, don't you think?".
"Actually, that had been my initial intention. But when I told Meregith she got so excited about it that I let her convince me that going big was the most appropriate thing to do".
Gárwine laughed then. Not a genuine, amused laughed. Rather a sarcastic, bitter one: "And you thought an advice about your wife coming from Meregith's mouth was to be followed because?".
"Come, Gárwine. I know she doesn't like her, but…".
"She hates her guts, Éomer".
"Now you are exaggerating".
"No, I'm not. At first I thought it was just a passing phase, that sooner or later she'd have come to terms with her presence here and moved forward. But she hasn't and I'm not surprised to hear she played a role in yesterday's disaster for she'd do anything to prevent your marriage from being a happy one. Meregith hates your wife and blames her for things that happened long before she arrived in Aldburg, Éomer. It's high time you acknowledge that".
Éomer rubbed his face and sat heavily in the chair by Gárwine's side: "You mean Dawyn?".
"Yes, I mean Dawyn".
He swallowed, almost too afraid to say the words: "She…".
"She loved you".
Gárwine words hung heavy in the air and for a while, all he could do was staring into the crackling fire. "I suppose I've always known it", he finally admitted. "But I've never led on her false hopes: we grew up together, she was like a sister to me but nothing more. When she suddenly left, I was surprised but suspected at the same time it might have been due to Lothíriel's arrival. I tried to speak to her, but she avoided me and while it saddened me to see her leaving, a part of me thought it was for the better: finally, I thought, she'll move past whatever unreciprocated feelings she has and will be able to live her life like she deserves to".
Gárwine placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze: "What happened is not your fault, Éomer. And it's also not your wife's fault. I can't even imagine the pain of losing a child, let alone losing them all like it happened to Meregith. But that does not justify her hatred for Lothíriel".
"No, you are right. I know Meregith and Lothíriel have never gotten along, but I hadn't realized just how bad things really are: I'm so often away and even when I'm here, there are so many things to do, so many people looking up at me to solve their problems, that it feels like I'm never really here. I let myself be distracted and did not realize what was going on under my own roof…".
"Don't be too hard with yourself, Éomer: you are a good man and none better than you could lead us through these dark times. I know you are overwhelmed with things to do but as you said, if only you had paid more attention to what's going on around you, you'd have realized Aldburg hasn't exactly given your wife a warm welcome. Both Brunwyn and I have heard several of the maids talking about her feud with Meregith: some think Meregith is right in being so harsh with her, others believe she has crossed the line and is making things worse on purpose. Sadly, I tend to believe the latter".
"But if that's true, if Meregith really is tormenting her like you say, then why didn't she say anything? Why did she never complain?".
"With whom, Éomer? With a husband she has barely seen? Can you really fault her for thinking there's no one she can speak to?".
"No. Damn it, I had no idea things had gotten so out of hand with Meregith but I'll speak to her", he promised, already knowing that wasn't going to be an easy conversation nor a pleasant one. But Gárwine wasn't one to spread unwarranted rumours and if he believed there was truth to what people said, then he needed to act.
For his wife's sake. And for his'.
"You may come, father!", Estwyn called from the next room.
Gárwine stood up and extended an arm towards him: "Come, Éomer: let me introduce you to my grandson".
Sitting in an armchair by the hearth with a blanket on her legs and a tiny bundle in her arms, Estwyn greeted him with a tired and yet beaming smile: "Éomer, what a pleasant surprise!".
"Good morning, Estwyn. How are you feeling?", he asked her as he kneeled by her side.
"Exhausted and desperately wishing somebody wasn't waking me up every hour throughout the whole night, but otherwise I'm good".
"I won't stay long", Éomer reassured her as he took his first glance at Freca.
Hazelnut eyes. Slightly upturned nose. Sparse freckles on his cheeks. Éomer stared at him and then turned back towards Gárwine, who looked positively smug: "Notice a resemblance?".
"A resemblance? He's your spitting image!".
"Luckily for him, I might add: I don't want to sound too cocky, but I was quite the man when I was in my prime! Nothing like Cenric anyway!".
"Father!", Estwyn tried to scold him, but she could barely keep herself from laughing.
As for him, it took him all his self-control to keep a straight face: Cenric had many qualities and was going to be a great father. But when it came to looks, with his gangly figure and hook nose, he really could not compete against his father-in-law!
Estwyn leant towards him, so that he could take a better look at Freca: "Father is right, Éomer. About yesterday and well… about everything else too", she whispered. Then, seeing the way he was looking at her, she lowered her eyes: "I'm sorry, I did not mean to pry…".
"No, it's alright. It's no secret anyway, I suppose".
"I spoke to her many times, you know? To Dawyn, I mean. But she didn't want to listen: it was as if she was stuck in this idea that one day you'd have awoken and suddenly realized she was the love of your life. That you considered her like a sister, that everybody told her you would have never loved her back the same way she loved you, she just did not care". Estwyn leaned back and held Freca a little tighter: "I remember the day she left: I went to meet her in the stables, told her I was happy for her. She seemed… melancholic, but resolved at the same time. I think your wife's imminent arrival had finally opened her eyes. Yet she had no hard feelings towards her and were she here today, I don't think she'd approve the way her mother is treating her".
"I should have spoken to her. Long before Lothíriel's arrival. I should have spoken to her and found a way to make her understand. Maybe things would have gone differently then".
"Maybe. But know this, Éomer: she did not blame you and she wasn't angry with you. More with herself, I think. And she needed to leave this place: living under the same roof together with your wife would have done her no good".
"No, of course not".
He gently stroke a thumb on Freca's plump cheek: the boy opened his big eyes and stared at him with a frown, before bursting in a desperate cry. "He's tired", Estwyn told him as she cradled him to her chest and hushed him to sleep.
Éomer kissed her hand and pulled himself up: "As is his mother".
"No, I'm fine. You can stay", Estwyn offered him, but her eyes were already closing.
Éomer smiled and tiptoed out of the room.
The arrival of the Gondorian merchants really was a big deal.
Too much of a big deal, actually: the streets were so crowded that the only way to move forward was pushing people out of your way and hope you wouldn't get pushed back in return. At the front, Runhild was their forerunner: though small, the girl did not shy away from clearing the way with a well-aimed elbow here and a nudge there. She held on her hand with an iron grip and dragged her along while behind her, Wilrun hung tight on her arm: "Do you see them?", she cried.
"I…I think they are at the square", Lothíriel yelled back.
"You sure?".
"Yes, I see them!".
Runhild suddenly steered right and climbed up a fence: "Follow me: we take a shortcut!".
Lothíriel thought about complaining but quite honestly, she'd have rather clambered Minas Tirith's walls on her nails than staying a minute longer in that crowd. She pulled herself up, carefully climbed over to the other side and hoping her gown hadn't gotten stuck into anything, jumped down: to her relief, she landed on her feet and not on any other part of her body.
Runhild waited for Wilrun to follow suit, then grabbed their hands and started running uphill through a maze of small alleys, tiny pens and barking dogs. By the time they had reached the top of the city, Lothíriel's shoes were completely covered in mud and the sweat was making her dress stick to the skin on her back: "One more step and I'll collapse, I swear!", she moaned, leaning against a wall.
Behind her, Wilrun looked just as exhausted and short of breath. Runhild on the other hand, was as fresh as a daisy: "Hush. If it wasn't for me, we'd still be stuck down there".
"Yes, but there was no need to run like that! Do you want to see us dead?", Wilrun groaned.
Lothíriel tried to sit on a log, but Runhild had none of it: "You will rest later. Now, let's go!".
Wilrun gave her a resigned look and all they could do, was to meekly follow her: when Runhild was in that mood, there was nothing that could stop her from getting what she wanted!
They rounded the corner and to Lothíriel's immense relief, the main square did not appear to be nearly as crowded as the streets below. She looked ahead and on either side of the hall's entrance she counted a total of six stands that – she could see now, were clearly selling Gondorian merchandise: jewellery, fabrics, weapons, but also dried food and spices that filled the air with their aroma… Lothíriel took a deep breath and for a moment, she really felt like she was back in Dol Amroth!
She turned around but her friends were nowhere to be seen, surely already scouting the market to see what it had to offer. Left with little choice but to wander on her own, Lothíriel approached the first stall and almost immediately, her eyes were drawn by a golden bracelet: the chain was thin and rather simple, but it embedded three small pearls of red coral.
"A fine choice, Princess".
Lothíriel smiled at the young merchant: it had been a long time since someone had addressed her with her former title. "I have a friend on whom this would look just perfect".
The man walked around the stand and took the bracelet from her hands: "I'm sure it would look even better on yourself", he told her in a deep voice. He gently took her wrist and while there was nothing blatantly improper about his manners, the way he brushed her arm a little longer than necessary and the way he stood right next to her so that their bodies were almost touching, was way too familiar for her own taste. She tried to step aside but he held on her hand and planted a kiss on it: "Ah, see: as if it was crafted for you".
Lothíriel pulled her hand away and this time, he let her go. But he was still looking at her in a way that made her very, very uncomfortable: "I-I will think about it", she stammered as she tried to take the bracelet off but of course, the clasp would not open.
"Let me help you, Princess", he offered but before he could lift a finger, someone forcefully pushed his way between the two of them.
"Found something to your liking?".
The merchant paled visibly and within the blink of an eye, he had retreated back behind his counter. As for her, she stared mouth-gaping at the imposing figure of her husband: "N-no, I was just having a look around…".
"May I?", he asked her.
She nodded and he took her hand between his', examining closely the bracelet: "It is beautiful but I have to disagree with our man here", he said glancing towards the merchant, who looked like he desperately wished the ground could suddenly open under his feet and swallow him. He took a silver bracelet and gave it to her: "I think something like this would suit you much better".
It took Lothíriel a moment to overcome the shock for her husband's sudden appearance but when she finally did, she couldn't help but agreeing with him: "I know: gold has never suited me, it makes my skin look greyish".
To her surprise, he seemed embarrassed: "No, that's not what I meant".
"It's alright, really. I was only interested in this as a present for Runhild: soon it will be her birthday and I know it's not something you celebrate here, but we do in Gondor and I thought this would look perfect on her. Much better than on me, anyway!".
Her husband seemed to consider her words carefully: "Yes, I think you are right: I could see her wearing something like this", he agreed.
He helped her unfastening the bracelet, then passed it to the merchant who wrapped it quickly in a black velvet cloth and passed it back to her without even daring lifting his eyes from the ground: no doubt her husband knew how to intimidate someone without the need of uttering a single word!
"Thank you, my Lord".
He waved a hand: "Please, there's no need for thanking me. Are you sure you don't want to buy anything for yourself? Maybe we should take a look at some other stall?", he suggested, offering her his arm.
"Gladly, my Lord. I wonder where Runhild and Wilrun are: I lost them the moment we set foot on the square".
"I saw Wilrun buying some leather crafts over there, while Runhild was haggling with a merchant selling…well I don't know what he was selling but by the look of it, she was giving him a hard time. Wouldn't be surprised if he'll end up giving her everything for free".
"Yes, that sounds just like her", Lothíriel agreed, placing her hand under his arm.
They strolled around but with the square quickly filling up, it was getting almost impossible to see what each stall was selling and before she even knew it, she found herself pressed against her husband's arm: "Would you like to get something to eat?", he asked her.
She shook her head: "No, we had an abundant breakfast earlier today!", she yelled back.
The place was getting more cramped and louder by the minute and when someone accidentally kicked her feet, she had to cling with all her strength onto her husband to avoid tripping forwards. He promptly circled her shoulders with his arm and shielding her with his frame, he led her towards the side of the square, where the crowd was not so thick and the buzz not so deafening: "Better?".
"Yes, thank you", she sighed in relief.
"The market is normally not so overcrowded. I suppose everybody got a little too excited about the arrival of your fellow countrymen: it has been a long time since we last saw Gondorian merchants here".
Lothíriel sat on the edge of a trough and tucked a few rebel strands of hair behind her ear: "Why is that? Do they normally only make it until Edoras?", she asked.
Éomer gave her a strange look: "They normally don't make it until Rohan at all. Relations between our countries have been growing tense and sparse in the past few years, that's one of the reasons why our wedding was arranged: if it wasn't for your presence here, those merchants would have never travelled to Aldburg and today would have been just another normal market day".
Lothíriel lowered her eyes and stared at her muddy shoes: to be reminded of the contractual nature of their marriage was irritating. At the same time, she had never spared a thought on what their union would have meant to the people of Rohan and also – she supposed, the ones of Gondor.
Éomer sat by her side and under his weight, the trough gave a worrying squeak: "I know things haven't been easy for you and I know I've been an absent husband. But if you ever need something, you can always come knocking at my door".
Herself unsure what to say, Lothíriel said nothing and kept staring at her feet.
"Our is not a marriage of love, that much we both know. But that doesn't mean it has to be a miserable one so if there's anything I can do to make it better, you need only ask".
Lothíriel felt a lump in her throat and swallowed hard trying to get rid of it: "I'm sorry for yesterday, my Lord. I wasn't feeling very well and decided it was for the best that I returned to my room. But I shouldn't have left that way".
"It's alright, no need to apologize. I'm just glad to see you're doing better today".
"Yes, much better. It was….it was nice to ride out with Runhild and Wilrun".
"Even though you are not an accomplished rider?", he teased her, remembering her word from the day before.
She smiled: "Yes: we didn't ride far. We always had the city in sight".
"I know. Runhild came to me a few days ago to ask me for permission – not that you need one to go out with your friends, and I told her that that was as far as I could allow you to go without taking guards with you".
"Given that back in Dol Amroth I could not leave the palace unless I had two guards with me, riding alone with the girls was already a very daring endeavour for my standards".
"More or less daring than having to cope with a flirtatious Gondorian merchant?", Éomer asked her with a wicked smile.
For the second time that day, Lothíriel felt her cheeks burning: "I wasn't flirting!".
"No, you were not. He was though!", he laughed. Then, seeing her embarrassment, he tried to turn serious: "I suppose back in Dol Amroth your father's guards ensured nothing like that would ever happen. If you want to avoid such encounters in the future, just take a guard with you. Or even better: take Runhild!".
"Are you implying Runhild strikes more fear than one of your guards?".
"I can find you more than a few men who'd rather ride into battle than face an angry Runhild. Ah, speaking of the devil, look who's coming".
Runhild emerged from the crowded square and stumbled towards them, her ginger head only barely peaking from behind a huge pile of fabric: "My Lady?".
"Valar, Runhild: did you buy all that stuff?".
"This? Oh, this is nothing: there's more down there but I first need to bring this home and then I'll return for the rest", she explained, already striding blindly down the road and towards the cottage she shared with her father.
When the pile of clothing started to lean dangerously on one side, Lothíriel snapped up: "I better go help her before everything ends up in the mud!".
"Yes, that's probably a good idea".
Author's notes: I wanted to write something about this chapter but I just can't seem to be able to do it. I finished this installment while being forced home by the Coronavirus lockdown: I live in Switzerland but being Italian and having my family there, this past weeks have been hard and dreadful at times. Writing has helped me keeping my mind busy and will hopefully continue to do so. I'm sure this awful crisis will soon pass and we'll all go back to our normal lives but until then and wherever you are, please to do not underestimate the threat posed by this virus and follow the social distancing rules that are being advised worldwide.
Stay home, stay safe!
WillowMist14: thank you! At least this update didn't take as long as the previous one :)
rossui: I agree: the more I write about Runhild and Gárwine, the more I grow fond of them!
Beancdn: I know, it took me ages to post the previous chapter and long enough to post this. The story isn't deserted though, just a slowly progressing one! I'm so glad you like my imperfect-characters because as you say, they feel to me way more relatable than a perfect one. As for Lothíriel's reaction, you were close enough as to why it triggered such reaction!
xxMizz Alec VolturiXx: hope you enjoyed this update then!
Catspector: glad you liked it! As for the pie, she's not allergic but well, close enough! Of course the whole situation could have been easily handled had she reacted like Runhild suggested, but this Lothíriel is a bit of an awkward, insecure young girl who has to learn how to deal with such situations in a mature way. Until then, she'll be easy game for someone like Meregith.
Guest: now you know!
tgo62: I also normally see/prefer Imrahil in the good father role. This time, I decided to play it a bit differently though. Unfortunately, his actions are now keeping Lothíriel and Éomer apart without them even realizing it…
Katia0203: she has to learn and she has to grow, on that we can all agree! But at least she's aware of how bad she handled things and is willing to remedy!