Chapter 15

Aldburg, June the 1st, 3018

Staring at her reflection in the mirror, Lothíriel had to admit she was positively impressed. She had never liked scarlet dresses and always thought the colour didn't suit her, but it appeared she would have to make an exception: what Cynerith – Wilrun's mother and Aldburg's seamstress had come up with, was in fact absolutely stunning.

Out of the fabrics Éomer had bought for her, she had made four different gowns: a lilac one with a black silk belt that was the quintessence of a summer dress, what with its fluttering sleeves and pastel hue; a green one with golden details that was the perfect embodiment of Rohan's soul; and finally, two red dresses. One was rather plain and as such, ideal for day-to-day life. But the other was a completely different story: it had an off-shoulder neckline along which Cynerith had embroidered a delicate floral pattern that matched the one on the hem of the sleeves; a strategically placed belt ensured the dress accentuated her waistline while hugging perfectly her figure – even more so now that she had gained a few pounds and returned to her normal weight. Though the style was different and perhaps less elaborated than the one of Gondor, the overall result was no less elegant and the more Lothíriel looked at herself, the more she felt like falling in love with it.

"And?", prompted her Wilrun.

"And I don't know what to say, these dresses are all pretty but this… this is gorgeous!".

"Even if it's red?", she teased her.

"I don't know why I was so biased. Perhaps it's because of that other red dress that I have and never really liked…".

"The one you brought from Dol Amroth?", asked Runhild.

"Yes".

"Please", she snorted rolling dramatically her eyes: "That thing fits you worse than a sack of potatoes!".

"It was supposed to be warm, not fancy!", she tried defending her Amrothian seamstress.

She carefully undressed and made for changing into her old clothes, but Wilrun stopped her: "Wait, there's one last thing you need to try on", she told her, holding in front of her a dress Lothíriel had not expected to see: "As a true woman of Rohan, you do need an adequate riding attire".

Lothíriel chuckled at those words: things in Aldburg were far from being settled, but she had been astonished to see the change her new attitude had brought. For months she had spent her days pitying herself and despairing at the thought of the life she had lost, of the loved ones she had been forced to abandon. And while it hadn't been easy to get out of the dark place into which she had locked herself, it was true that the moment she had embraced her new life and accepted the challenges that came with it, most of those around her had been nothing but supportive: Runhild and Wilrun of course; but also Éomer, Gárwine, Eofor, Ides… and all those people whose names she didn't even know, all those strangers who every morning greeted her with a smile and never hesitated to rush to her help. She felt like the moment she had given them a chance, they had done the same with her. And right then, that was all she needed to try moving forward with her life.

"Was this also something Éomer asked for?", she asked, brushing her fingers on the grey skirt.

"Yes. I did not tell you because I wanted it to be a surprise. He also asked for a winter outfit, but there's time for that", explained Wilrun while she helped her dressing up.

The calf-length skirt came with a double layered upper-part: a light white blouse – perfect on its own on a hot summer day, and a matching jacket for colder days. Thinking of the Gondorian frilly riding skirts, it was hard to imagine something more different but then again: Rohirrim were more about practicality and less about appearances, so it made completely sense. A pair of black boots completed the outfit and once again, Lothíriel found herself staring in satisfaction at the mirror: "You must commend your mother on my behalf, Wilrun. I'm not that easy of a person, but I have to say these are some of the most beautiful dresses I've ever owned".

There was a light blush on her friend's cheeks but whatever she wanted to say, was lost under the sound of a resolute knock on the door – so resolute, she knew right away who to expect: "Come in", she called.

Éomer stepped in and leaning with one arm on the frame of the door, he gave her a very smug look: "Are you busy?".

"I was trying the dresses Cynerith made for me…".

"…but this was the las one, so we are done!", Wilrun cut her off, dragging a very reluctant Runhild out of the room.

Éomer moved out of the way to let them pass, then asked her again: "Are you busy?".

"As long as what you have in mind is something that can be done while wearing a riding skirt, I guess not".

"Excellent. Feeling up to a short hike?".

"A hike?", asked Lothíriel incredulous.

"Only until the ruined watchtower. I'd offer to carry you, but I know you wouldn't appreciate that".

"With watchtower you mean that creepy, ghosts infested, derelict building atop the city?".

"Derelict, yes. Creepy, perhaps. Ghosts infected, most definitely not! I didn't take you for one to believe such silly stories…", said Éomer, passing her the walking sick and offering her his arm at the same time

"I normally don't, but Runhild is terrified of that place and told me a whole bunch of scary stories about it".

"Such as?".

"Such as mysterious sounds and spooky flickering lights in the middle of the night…".

"Actually, that might have just been me!", laughed Éomer as he led her out of the hall.

"You go there at night?".

"Sometimes, if I can't sleep".

"Wait, are you saying a sleepless Marshall is to blame for all those talks about a cursed building in town?".

"No, no. The tower's reputation is much older than I am. But if it makes you feel any better, I've spent a lot of time up there and never encountered any ghost".

"That's a relief!", exhaled Lothíriel, bracing herself for a long and gruelling walk. The tower was not far above the city, but the path leading there was steep. To make things even worse, Éomer was one of those persons who are simply unable to keep a slow pace: no matter where he was going, he was always moving in those long, quick strides. While normally that would simply require of her to rush a little in order to keep up with him, she now had to constantly pull him back to remind him that no, she could not nearly walk that fast in her current condition.

As they approached the top, a mild breeze enveloped them: unlike Dol Amroth - where the wind pattern was quite regular and predictable, in Rohan the weather was way more erratic. Even now that they were approaching the warm season, a string of more than three or four sunny days in a row was a rare event: rain was always behind the corner and strong winds battered the plains almost every afternoon, offering at least some much-welcomed respite from the rising heat. Even so, by the time they had reached their destination Lothíriel's new shirt was soaked in sweat and she was forced to pause to catch her breath.

She took the opportunity to take a first look at this famed tower: she didn't know if it was because of the bright day-light or because of Éomer's reassuring presence by her side, but she had to admit the place looked nothing like Runhild had described it. Sure, it was half-collapsed and in shambles, but there was absolutely nothing spooky about it: "This doesn't seem half as bad as I thought it would be!".

Éomer stayed strangely silent and as they rounded the corner, it became clear why he had insisted so much on taking her all the way up there: at the feet of the tower, strategically placed under the shade provided by a young maple tree, was a blanket and what appeared to be a generous refreshment. Lothíriel shot him a surprised look: "Did you prepare all of this?".

He nodded and helped her down, then took place by her side.

Resting with her legs stretched in front of her, Lothíriel fixed her hair in an improvised ponytail and took a moment to enjoy the landscape in front of them: though only marginally higher than the rest of the city, the view from up there was definitely worth the effort. She could see the hall and – if she was not mistaken, the window of her room; the city was little more than a distant buzz while far ahead, the White Mountains emerged from the summer haze in all their majestic splendour. "It's beautiful up here", she marvelled.

"I know. And in winter, when the air is clear and the peaks capped in pristine snow, it's even better". Reaching behind a musk-covered stone, Éomer produced a package and handed it over: "Open it up".

She did as bid and could not hide her stupor when she unveiled a leather-bound sketchbook. It was similar to the one she already had, just this was made of a much more refined paper: one that had been crafted using only the whitest linens and cottons; one that was not easy – nor cheap to find. It came with a little wooden box inside which were several pieces of black charcoal and red chalk. She made for taking one of them, then froze as she remembered about her new dress: last thing she wanted, was to stain it!

"Go on", encouraged her Éomer and throwing all caution to the wind, she took a piece of red chalks and tested its stroke on the paper: smooth and flawless, just like she had expected! When she turned towards Éomer, she found him staring with a strange look at something behind her: "Get ready", he warned her and right on clue, a loud whistle soared over the city.

"Look, it's one of the red kites!", cried Lothíriel, pointing at the raptor landing gracefully atop the ruined bastion.

"I know. This couple has been nestling here since a few years already; they laid their eggs in spring and now, they are raising their chicks".

Realizing there had been nothing fortuitous in any of that - the hike up there, the paper and the red chalk, the kites suddenly making their appearance, Lothíriel found herself at loss for words. All she could do was holding tight on her gift, her eyes shifting between Éomer and the tower.

"I remember when I first saw your drawings, I noticed kites were a recurring subject: you kept changing the pattern on their wings, but never really got it right".

"I know. Peregrines and buzzards are common in Dol Amroth, but I had never seen a red kite before. I tried so many times to take a decent look at them, but they always fly too high above the city: I could make the shape of their wings and tail, I could glimpse the red in their feathers, but nothing more than that".

"I believe you're about to remedy that. Look, the female's coming too".

Shielding her eyes against the bright sun, Lothíriel spotted another kite approaching the nest: "Are you sure it's a female? She seems much bigger than the other one", she noticed, her hands moving fast on the paper.

"Females are bigger than males".

"Really?".

"Yes. I'm not sure if it's common among all raptors, but most of those I know share this trait".

"I didn't take you for expert. What else do you know?".

"Not much. But I do know they can live quite long – fifteen or even twenty years, and that when they choose a partner, it's for life".

Lothíriel observed the female landing in her nest, a large chunk of meat hanging from her beak. She fed her young ones and made a good show of herself before taking to the air again, and Valar was she beautiful! Her wings were tipped with black feathers followed by white patches underneath, while the upper part was coloured in the same reddish-brown of her body and tail. She glided effortlessly off the tower, flapped her wings only a few times before getting again into that slowly rising circular motion that she knew would bring her high above them, until she'd be nothing more than a tiny black dot against the blue sky.

As she turned the page to start a new sketch, Lothíriel risked a glance at Éomer: he lied on his side, eyes closed, head propped on one hand. The past two weeks had been hard on him: between Caerdydd, Grima and everything else going on, he had plenty to keep him busy at day and awake at night. In all honesty, she had no idea how he managed to do it. To her, even just caring for the household was an almost overwhelming task - so much that in the evening she was often so tired she'd almost fall asleep in her plate; yet that was nothing compared to what he did: working in the stables, training with the men, helping at the orphanage, riding to nearby villages to settle disputes and solve all sorts of different problems, managing all those administrative tasks she was still unfamiliar with. Even without his patrolling duties, she could see how exhausted he was, she could feel what a burden it was to supply the whole city with all the strength and hope they needed to navigate those difficult times.

Yet in the midst of all of it, he had found the time: the time to get her a gift that would be worth in her eyes more than a thousand precious stones; the time to postpone more pressing matters just so he could spend a few hours with her while she improved her portraits. And that he had done so – Lothíriel realized, was just so distinctively Éomer.

Cradled by the sound of the chalk scratching the paper, Éomer dozed off into an unexpectedly peaceful sleep. He woke with a start some time later, his eyes snapping open in response to a sudden movement around him: "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up", apologized Lothíriel while she moved the basket with their lunch towards them.

Éomer stretched his limbs and snatched her booklet: "May I take a look?".

"Of course", she told him, her cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink.

Just as he had expected, Lothíriel had not wasted her chance of better studying her favourite subject. The first two pages of her book were filled with sketches of the kites: the pattern on their wings now finally mastered, she had focused on capturing different perspectives of their flight. Here and there she had sneaked in a few of different birds – a swift, a dove, a white wagtail, but it was the drawing on the third page that really caught his attention. With just a few well-placed strokes, she had managed to capture faultlessly the essence of that day: the ruined tower with the dangling nest; the sprouting trees and tall grass; the barely discernible profile of the city and – far behind them, of the White Mountains; a tiny blanket and two people, one sitting with her back slightly curved, the other lying by her side. He almost brushed his fingers on their outline, but stopped just in time to avoid smudging it: "Do you mind if I keep this?".

A sheepish smile being all the consent he needed, Éomer folded the paper and slip it inside his tunic. He waited until Lothíriel had arranged their lunch, then took a piece of bread and sliced some cheese on it: "Has Runhild told you anything about our Midsummer traditions?".

"Runhild, not really. Dúnor on the other hand, he speaks about it incessantly: not to put pressure on you, but you should know he'll be very disappointed if you don't win the tournament".

"Don't worry, I have no intentions to let anyone break my string of five consecutive victories!", he proclaimed, his cockiness gaining him a pointed side glance. "Has he said anything about the hunting party that precedes the celebrations?".

"No, why?".

"A fortnight before the celebrations start, it's tradition for men and women to take part to a hunting trip. For three days and four nights, we set camp on some nearby hills. We split into teams of maximum two people and scour the woods: there's a trophy for those who catch the biggest game and all the meat is brought back to Aldburg, where it's aged and smoked to be then consumed during the festivities. The hunting trip itself doesn't have a name, but people refer to it as the chase".

"Oh, I've heard about that! I think Wilrun normally participates".

"Yes, she's good with the bow and normally joins together with her father. However, the chase is much more than just a trip for hunters: there are always a lot of families tagging along and on the third day, there will be all sort of games and contests and even a traditional swim by the lake", he explained to an obviously interested Lothíriel.

"We have something similar in Dol Amroth but instead of hunting, we go fishing in the waters of Lond Cobas: afterwards, participants dock at a small island off the city's coast and feast on their catch. But it's not really a family thing. In fact, only those who are able to either manoeuvre the boats or do the fishing are allowed to join, which of course means I've never taken any part in it. I may be born and raised by the sea, but I am absolutely clueless when it comes to hooks, baits and fishing rods!".

"Well, you don't need to be knowledgeable about hunting to join the chase. Which is why I think you should come with us: the place where we camp is not far from here and if you don't feel up to riding, I can arrange a carriage for you. With plenty of families travelling with us, you will hardy be the only one seeking a more comfortable way of travelling. Your friends will be there too and I'm sure you'd enjoy a few days of rest and fun. Besides", he told her turning suddenly serious, "I'd like you to come: this year's chase wouldn't feel right without you".

Judging by the way she was staring at him, Éomer suspected he had been a little too straight forward. But he truly meant his words: little less than a month had passed since Lothíriel had welcomed him home after his stay at Caerdydd, yet he already found it surprisingly difficult to picture Aldburg without her.

Lothíriel was unlike any woman he had ever met: she was young, naïve perhaps - and given the type of sheltered life she had lived in Dol Amroth, it could have hardly been any different. But she wasn't foolish nor insensitive and ever since taking the lead of the hall, he had seen her thriving like a blossom in the spring sunshine. She had proven herself a thousand times over, effortlessly gained everyone's respect and admiration. Yet she still thought so little of herself, could be so quick at chastising her own mishaps: in a world of confident women and – Bema help him, brazen suitors, Lothíriel's delicate strength was like a breath of fresh air.

One it had been way too easy to grow accustom to; one into which he wished he could delve deeper than he had dared.

But he knew Lothíriel needed to set her own pace and he'll be damned if he ruined all the progresses they had made with one bold hasty move!

"I will come", she just said, her eyes low, the blush on her cheeks deepening.

"Splendid!".

Éomer helped himself to a slice of dry meat while for her part, Lothíriel seemed perfectly happy with crunching one carrot after the other. He was a little concerned she'd have gone hungry with eating only raw vegetables, but as soon as she spotted the waffles and spiced honey at the bottom of the basket, all his worries were put to rest. Unwilling to ruin their meal with a topic he suspected being unpleasant, he patiently waited until they had eaten all their food: it was past midday by then and with the sun turning above their heads, they found themselves out of the shade and directly into the sunlight. Lothíriel didn't seem to bother though, her eyes closed and her head tilted upwards: "There's something else I need to ask you, and I'm afraid you won't like it", he prepared her.

"Why? Has something happened?", she asked with a frown.

"No, all is good", he reassured her, looking desperately for a painless way to address his concerns. "The day we rescued you and brought you back to Aldburg, Runhild told me some… things. I know she shouldn't have, but please don't be mad at her: she was out of her mind and worried sick about you".

"I honestly don't think I could ever be mad at her", Lothíriel told him with a nervous smile: "What did she tell you?".

"Something that I neglected at first, for I thought she was speaking out of anger and making no sense at all. First, she said your father and I had arranged our marriage without even informing you, which I thought ridiculous but later found out it was true. As such, I can't help but thinking of something else she said that day; something about you making yourself physically sick about being forced here", he said and if he had ever hoped Runhild's words to be a lie or perhaps an exaggeration, the way Lothíriel paled was a sore confirmation of all his worries.

She rose to her feet and walked a few steps away, gave him her back while she stared in the distance. As much as he'd have liked to go to her and reassure her there was nothing to be anxious about, Éomer knew she needed her space: "We don't have to talk about it. I only brought it up because I'd never forgive myself, were something to happen to you just because I was too much of a coward to confront you about it".

Lothíriel turned around and with what looked like a great effort, she came back sitting on the blanket. Her hands clasped together, she gave him a little nod.

"As I said: if you don't want to talk with me about it, that's alright. I just need to know you are well – or as well as you can reasonably be, and that if you'll never need anything, you won't hesitate to ask. It doesn't matter whether it's me, Runhild, Frumgar or a stranger on the street, as long as you remember you're not alone here".

"I know and I'm doing…better", said Lothíriel, her voice thin, her fingers playing nervously with the fabric of her skirt.

"Good", smiled Éomer and knowing there wasn't much more he could do - at least not until she'd feel up to open up with him, he tried steering the conversation towards more pleasant topics. "Would you like drawing something else?", he proposed holding the sketchbook in front of her.

But Lothíriel shook her head: "Not now".

"Shall we head back to the hall?".

"No", she firmly declined. "Perhaps we could stay a little longer and enjoy the view from up here? Unless you have something else to do, that is".

"I have not: I had hoped you'd have liked it here and cleared my schedule for the day. I'll be happy to stay, but I think we should get you in the shade: I'm afraid you'll get burned if you stay any longer in the sun".

Lothíriel adjusted the blanket and hugging her knees to her chest, she sat opposite to him. They stayed so for a while, each absorbed by their own thoughts: the kites flew often back and forth but Lothíriel barely paid them any heed, staring off in stern concentration into the blue sky above them. Lying in the sun, Éomer did his best to savour every last bit of that rare moment of peace, but it wasn't long until the sound of hurried steps had him sitting up, a sense of foreboding growing inside him.

"Éomer?".

He took a deep breath and rose to his feet: so much for taking the day off. "Over here", he called.

Éothain's head peeked from the behind the wall and sure enough, the scowl on his face meant only one thing: bad news. By his side, Lothíriel too smelled troubles ahead and threw him a worried glance.

"One of the scouts you sent out has returned. He spotted fresh tracks of a large group of orcs heading west. If we ride now, we'll intercept them before they can reach any settlement".

"How large?".

"He reckons at least forty, all heavy armed".

Éomer sighed. He knew there would have been an end to that unusually calm period: he hadn't been on a patrol in almost a month and though there had been sightings of enemies, Éothain had always managed to dispose of them on his behalf. A pack of forty orcs however, was a complete different matter; one that needed to be addressed as soon as possible, before those filthy beasts could reach any village or farm and spread panic and death among an already weary population. He turned towards Lothíriel and gave her an apologetic look: "I'm sorry".

"It's hardly your fault, Éomer". He offered her his arm, but she shook resolutely her head: "Speed is not my strong suit and you're in a hurry. Go ahead, I can make it down on my own".

"That's out of the question!", he declared, but Lothíriel had none of it and Éothain too came to her support.

"Eofor is on his way up. He can help her getting back to the hall".

"That's settled then. Go on, no need to tarry!", she encouraged him, pushing him gently towards his friend. Éomer shot her one last look, then reluctantly set off towards the city. He only managed a few steps before Lothíriel called him back, her voice urgent: "Wait!".

He snapped around and for a long moment, they stared at each other. Lothíriel standing at the edge of the rocky spur where the tower stood, her mouth half-open like she wanted to tell him something but words wouldn't come out of her mouth. Him a few feet below her, fighting the urge to rush up there and snatch her in his arms, whether she'd have liked it or not.

"Thank you, Éomer. For this", she said pointing at the blanket, "for the book, for the dresses…for everything".

He flashed her a smile and bowed, his heart feeling a little lighter as he finally left the city.

With Éomer gone, days in Aldburg stretched unexpectedly long and tedious.

Though she had plenty of things to do, Lothíriel found herself unable to concentrate on even the simplest tasks. She kept telling herself she was simply worried for Éomer and his men for she now knew what terrible dangers lurked around them, but she knew there was more to it.

The past few weeks had been… good. Really good. In spite of the troubles her leg gave her, in spite of the recurring nightmares that kept her awake at night, in spite of the never overcome hatred towards her father, she had found an unprecedented sense of fulfilment in her new role. And while she had had the encouragement of most of the people around her, she knew she'd have never gone that far without Éomer. Up from the very first moment he had never doubted her, never questioned her motives, never even remotely suggested there were other things – such as the ever-present caring for yourself her friends kept reminding her of, she could have done instead of usurping his place in his study. Perhaps better than anybody else he had understood that that was the best way to tend to her wounds: he had spent days explaining her all the different aspects of running such a big household, told her everything there was to know about Aldburg and Rohan in general. He had never seemed bothered by her questions, never hesitated to correct a mistake or praise a job well-done. She had been so anxious at first, always asking him to check, cross-check - and check again, what she had done in order to ensure all was in order; but she had slowly gained confidence and by the time he had left the city, Éomer could barely keep up with all the things she was doing.

Often Lothíriel found herself thinking of that day at the tower. Not because of him asking her about her crisis, though the idea of speaking to him about it or - even worse, experiencing one in his presence, was utterly terrifying and humiliating. But rather because of everything else that had happened: in fact, after his departure and much to Runhild's dismay, she had often climbed atop the city's hill and spent long hours sitting on the cool grass, brooding over the unexpected turn her life had taken.

Much as she disliked agreeing with her father, she had to admit Éomer was every last bit of the honourable man he had bragged about. Granted, he was not perfect nor flawless and he did have a legendary bad temper; but he had a good heart and under the surface of the seasoned warrior, he could be a funny, sensitive man. One who seemed to be made in layers, so much that every day she felt like discovering something new and totally unexpected about him.

And it was so that after months spent ignoring and loathing each other, it was with no small amount of disconcertment that Lothíriel realized she was looking forward to Éomer's return: her gaze would often linger on the horizon, every sound even remotely resembling that of a horn her heart would start racing in her chest.

It was strange. And disturbing. And terribly upsetting!

Perhaps she should have been happy of how her relationship with Éomer was evolving but instead, she couldn't help but feeling confused and insecure. To make things even worse, she had nobody with whom she could speak about it: Runhild still hadn't completely forgiven him for what had happened to her and as such, it was better to avoid the topic in her presence. As for everybody else, talking about it would have resulted in inappropriate – and definitely premature, cries of joy: Wilrun and Ides especially had been rooting so shamelessly for something to happen between Éomer and her, that she was reluctant to even mention his name in their presence!

Exasperated by the long wait, a week after Éomer's departure Lothíriel decided to assess the status of Aldburg's cellars: she knew it was a long overdue task and hopefully, it would keep her busy for long enough to temporarily forget about her worries.

Though no one had been happy about it, she had decided to take Meregith with her. The housekeeper had been stubbornly avoiding her and since their last confrontation in Éomer's study, they hadn't spoken a single word to one another. In her heart, Lothíriel knew the woman was never going to warm up to her presence; but she also thought that if only they tried, they might have been able to reach some sort of tolerable form of coexistence. Besides, it had been Meregith who had always taken care of the food stocked in Aldburg's cellars, so who better than her could help her with that task?

They descended in the basement at dawn and just like she had expected, most of the morning flew quickly by. There had been no friendly talk between Meregith and her but if anything, they proved they could work efficiently together: "Here are seven wheels of cheese, three kegs of salted meat, six crocks of salted cabbage and five of potted meat", said the housekeeper, stretching on her toes to get a better look at what was hiding in the back of the cellar's highest shelves.

"This is considerably less than what was left after last winter", sighed Lothíriel, meticulously noting all the numbers down.

"It was to be expected: with all those families abandoning their farms and moving into the city, harvests are declining while resident population is increasing. But don't worry", said Meregith as she climbed down the stool, "we are still decently stocked".

"For the time being perhaps", pondered Lothíriel, "but Edoras is requesting that we send them a heftier than usual contribution".

"How much heftier?".

"Almost twice as much".

"Twice as much?", snapped Meregith: "Is it for the Westfold?".

"We are not sure, but Éomer thinks not. Which leaves the possibility open for more supplies to be sent to the Hornburg, should Prince Théodred call for help".

"That's ridiculous! What does Grima think we are? The granary of the Mark?", thundered Meregith and her rant would have probably continued, hadn't a sequence of loud thuds on the ceiling above them caught their attention.

"Are they trying to dig a hole into the floor or what?", she wondered.

"No idea", said Meregith, frowning at the swinging lantern above their heads: "We better get up there and see what's going on".

Lothíriel nodded and holding firmly on her stick, she headed upstairs: already since a couple of days she had started moving around without its support but whenever stairs were involved, she had no choice but going back to it. Meregith let her go first and adjusting patiently to her pace, she trailed a few steps behind her. The more they advanced, the louder the noises and shouting become and to the best of her ability, Lothíriel tried to make haste towards the hall. When she finally got there, she couldn't help but gasping horrified at the scene of utter chaos she was presented with: "What is happening here?", she asked, making way through the crowd and towards the crouching profile of Gárwine. He turned towards her and it was only then that she realized he was bleeding profusely from a gash on his nose: "Gárwine!", she called, rushing towards him.

"I'm alright, just a broken nose".

"Just a broken nose?", she echoed him incredulous. Opposite to them, she spotted Balláf struggling to keep a man pinned to the ground while in the corner, Eofor and another guard were wrestling with a giant of man and having troubles at containing his glaring rage: "What's going on?", she asked again, but in the mayhem of the moment nobody seemed to be care a whit about her questions.

It was then that the man Balláf was holding back managed to break free and threw himself against the one Eofor was trying to immobilize. Next thing she knew, they were rolling on the ground, beating each other up until both their faces were a mask of blood: "Get out of here, Lothíriel", told her Gárwine, his words partially lost in the insults the two men were yelling at each other.

She hesitated, unsure what to do. But when in the heat of the moment Ides found herself in the path of the two litigants and got swept away and dragged violently to the ground, she snapped up and pushing people out of her way, advanced towards her: "Enough!", she cried, her shrill voice echoing in the crowded hall. All fell silent her and for a moment, even the two men who had caused all that mess froze. She kneeled beside the maid and helped her on her feet: "Are you alright?".

"Y-yes, my Lady", said Ides holding her elbow.

"Are you hurt?".

"No, I just hit my arm when I fell. It's nothing, really".

Ides had but just finished reassuring her, that again the two men resumed insulting and beating each other up. Balláf and Eofor managed to split them up and ignoring completely Gárwine's advise, Lothíriel placed herself between them: "You either calm down or I swear I'll have you chained and locked in some filthy cell!", she hissed, glaring first at one man and then at the other. The younger one shook Balláf off and seemingly a little calmer now, he backed off and even gave her a respectful bow. The older one on the other hand, tuned red and looked only moments away from doing something reckless: "I advise you think through your next move…".

"Gáror, my Lady", he growled.

"I advise you think through your next move, Gáror", warned him Lothíriel. Though still obviously furious, the man nodded and allowed Eofor to drag him back and at a safe distance from his intended target.

"And you are?".

"Dernda, my Lady", said the younger man, managing a smile that seemed quite inappropriate given the current circumstances.

"Gáror and Dernda, would you mind explaining what caused this embarrassing spectacle to take place in my hall? And I warn you", she said before they could get a word out, "if you try doing something stupid or start yelling again like two mad men, I'll not only have you shackled but gagged too! Do we understand each other?".

Gáror swallowed what no doubt was an insult and nodded. On the other side, Dernda bowed again: "Of course, my Lady".

"Good. Now, Gáror: what do you have to say for yourself?".

The man took a step forward, stood with his clenched fists hanging by his sides: "That swine", he hissed glaring at Dernda, "shamed my daughter and thought he could get away with it".

The younger man made for crying something, but Lothíriel was quick to shut him up: "Mine wasn't an empty threat, Dernda: you will speak when I say you can speak. Do otherwise and no one will ever get to hear your side of the story". His dashing smile vanished from his face, he shot her an angry look. "Go on, Gáror".

"A couple of years ago, Dernda moved into our village and became close to my daughter – Saewyn is her name. She was happy with him and trusting his intentions, my wife and I welcomed him gladly in our home, treated him like a son. Last winter, I even took him as apprentice in my workshop and told him I'd have left the place in his hands one day. All was well until a couple of months ago, when Saewyn and him grew suddenly apart. I thought it a lover's spat, but my wife soon realized Saewyn was pregnant: she confessed that that bastard over there got her with child and the moment she told him, he cut all ties and declared he wanted to have nothing to do with her. I went looking for him, but he disappeared overnight and it wasn't until last month that I found out he had moved to Lewes and got another girl to warm his bed. I confronted him and instead of taking responsibility for his actions", said Gáror, his voice dangerously low, "he insulted me and questioned my daughter's honour!".

"Where is she?", asked Lothíriel: "Your daughter, Saewyn: where is she?".

"Here, my Lady", spoke a tiny voice. The crowd gathered around them parted to reveal a girl no older than herself, with beautiful auburn hair and eyes as green as emeralds.

"Does your father speak the truth?".

"Yes", she confirmed, her eyes low, her arms wrapped protectively around her swollen belly.

"Did Dernda…", Lothíriel started to say before pausing, unsure what was the best way to ask such question: "Did he… force himself upon you?".

"No!", said Saewyn, her eyes wide. "I loved him, thought we'd marry one day. I was so happy when I found out I was pregnant. But when I told him, he got angry; he said I knew he never wanted a child…".

"Was it true?".

"Yes", admitted Saewyn, "but it was only because we were young and he couldn't provide for a family. He claimed to love me though, kept saying he only needed time to set things right and then, we could move out of my father's house and be together as husband and wife".

"You are a liar!", yelled Dernda, almost managing to initiate another brawl with Gáror.

Lothíriel only needed one glare and Balláf produced a pair of shackles and forced Dernda on his knees, gathered his wrists and secured them behind his back: "Another unwarranted word and you'll speak no more. Do you understand?". A vein popped on his forehead, but he was left with little choice but agreeing to her conditions: "Excellent. Now – calmly and in the civilized way this hall demands, tell us what you have to say".

"She's a liar", he spat out, staring at Saewyn in disgust.

"Yes, you already said that. Care to explain which part of her story is a lie? Are you denying the paternity of the child she carries?".

"No. But she tricked me".

"She tricked you into getting her pregnant? How? A girl half your size stripped you naked and forced you to lie with her?", asked Lothíriel staring at him with an arched eyebrow.

An amused chuckle spread across the crowd and Dernda's expression grew visibly darker: "I don't suppose a Gondorian witch to know how such things work. Especially not one who has never shared her husband's bed".

There was a collective gasp and in spite of his bleeding nose, Gárwine stepped forward with a thunderous expression: "How dare you…".

"Silence!", demanded Lothíriel, her voice sounding firmer than she had hoped. Every single bone in her body cried for her to leave the hall and retreat to the quiet of her room, but it wasn't lost to her that if she ever wanted to earn her place in Aldburg, she couldn't back off at the first sight of troubles. Squaring her shoulders, she signalled Balláf to pull Dernda on his feet: "Then perhaps you'd like to enlighten me?", she told him, her face just inches apart from his'.

"Of course", he consented with a sneering grin. "I never promised anything to Saewyn, she always knew what was between us had nothing to do with love. And I assure you, she was more than happy with our arrangement", he said with a malicious smile that made her wish Gáror would beat his face to pulp. Instead, the older man was as still as a stone, one arm wrapped firmly around his daughter's shoulders. "Because of it", continued Dernda, "she was supposed to take precautions. Precautions she decided to forgo without ever informing me, so that she could force me to marry her and provide for her and the baby. But I won't!".

Lothíriel never thought she'd be glad for having a heartthrob brother with a reputation spanning across all Gondor but alas, she was forced to change her mind: hadn't it been for Amrothos and all the hushed conversations she had eavesdropped throughout the years, she'd have no idea what Dernda was talking about! "These precautions, what would they be?".

"Why, herbal tea obviously!".

"Is it true?", she asked Saewyn.

"Yes, my Lady".

"Where did you get it from?".

"She bought it from an old woman living in their village. I spoke to her and she confirmed Saewyn has been taking the tea regularly for the past year and a half", said Gárwine.

"And she claimed it to be…reliable?".

Saewyn shook her head: "No, she said there are days when the tea alone may not have been enough and that Dernda should have…you know…".

"Pulled out", she finished the sentence for her and quite honestly, she didn't know who was blushing the deepest red between the two of them.

"Yes. I informed Dernda, but he said there was nothing to worry about and that the woman had no idea what she was talking about".

"Because she doesn't! Perhaps the herbs she sold her were spoiled, but then it's her fault and she should be the one to provide for this child!", cried the man.

Lothíriel looked down on him in disgust: "I'm not sure what I find more appalling: that even I - a Gondorian witch with very small experience in the field, know more than you about which precautions are safe and which are not; that after you spent months living with Saewyn's family and after her father even gave you a job, you'd think we would believe the whole we were just having fun story; or that aside everything else, the fact this girl will give birth to your child is for you totally irrelevant".

There was a chorus of approving murmurs and feeling her confidence growing a little stronger, Lothíriel turned back towards Gárwine: "What had your decision been?".

"I spoke with this fool a sennight ago already. I told him I didn't care whether he wanted to be a father or not: either way, he has to provide for this child. If he doesn't, not only Saewyn and her family will struggle, but the girl's honour will be ruined for good. He wasn't happy with my decision and came here today to appeal to Éomer's better judgment, as he called it. When I informed him that he is not in town and that I stood by my decision, he lost his mind and thought insulting me and Saewyn would have been a good idea. The rest you already know".

"I demand to speak with Lord Éomer! I won't leave until he has been made aware of this madness!", cried Dernda, looking every last bit of the lunatic Gárwine had described.

"Éomer is not here, we don't know when he'll be back and once he returns, he'll surely have more important things to care about than some scoundrel who can't accept the judgment of both his deputy and his wife. So, unless you want to go to Edoras and appeal to the King himself for refusing to deal with the consequences of not being able to keep it in your pants, I advise you do as you've been ordered and never complain about it ever again".

Dernda looked at her in a way that would have scared her, had he not been shackled and held firmly by Balláf: "You seem a little too outspoken for a Gondorian maiden. Perhaps Lord Éomer should ensure that while you don't allow him in your bed, you aren't entertaining yourself with someone else around here. Perhaps his trusted deputy over there?".

In spite of her whole body shaking with rage, Lothíriel did not back off: "I'll be sure to convey your concerns to my husband. No doubt they'll make him considerably more sympathetic towards you and your despicable behaviour".

Finally coming to the realization all he had achieved so far was to dig himself into an even deeper hole, Dernda surrendered and agreed to all their conditions. Shortly after, he stormed out of the hall: "Lothíriel?", Gárwine called her with a concerned look on his face.

"I'm sorry, Gárwine. I'm feeling quite exhausted and I think I shall better retire for the day", she excused herself, rushing already towards the stairs. He called her again but she pretended she had not heard him, sprinted ahead and did not stop until the door of her room had locked behind her. There, she exhaled deeply and without even knowing why, started sobbing desperately.

Luckily for all of them, at dusk of the following day Éomer and his men returned to the city.

Author's notes: I'm sorry for the delay! I had meant to warn it would have taken me a little longer to update, but I totally forgot about it. I've had friends/family visiting almost uninterruptedly for the past month and as such, no time at all to write. The next couple of weeks will be busy too, so I might be in for another delayed update. Hopefully the chapter was somewhat worth the wait and soon, we are all going on a chase! :)

xXMizz Alec VolturiXx: she took her time, but she's fighting like a lioness now!

pineapple-pancake: I don't think Lothíriel is noticing the missed romance opportunities. She's getting into this at a much slower pace than Éomer and he knows that as much as he'd like to rush things, he simply can't.

tyskvalkyrja: I admit Runhild's dream are very much inspired to my best friend, with whom I shared a room while studying at the university – she truly said hilarious things at night! Even without Grima, Éomer was anyway forced to leave and while away, troubles occurred. Though Lothíriel did a great job at managing the situation, it's all taking its toll. Hopefully Éomer's return will put her mind at ease…

rossui: yes, even though there hasn't been any romance yet it was high time for some sweetness! On Éomer's side, there was probably even more in this chapter and slowly but surely, Lothíriel is coming to see it too.

elvinscarf: thank you!

tgo62: not sure she'll train much, but perhaps Dúnor can teach her the basics! :) Glad you like the last chapters!

Katia0203: thank you so much! Reviews always brighten my day, so we're even :) Hope things will soon get better, for these are strange and difficult times. Stay safe!

SwanKnightoftheNorth: sorry for the delay! As mentioned above, I forgot to warn I'd be late. At least it's a long chapter and hopefully you enjoyed it!

Guest: she will explain in the later chapters… :)