Chapter 16
Rohan, June the 10th, 3018
The moment he set foot in Aldburg and spotted Lothíriel waiting for him, Éomer got the feeling something was wrong. And after a cold welcome and a few hours spent together, his suspects quickly became certainty: she was tense, edgy, and whenever she thought he was not looking, she'd stare intently at him, her brow set in a deep frown. He asked her about a dozen times what was wrong but all he ever got as an answer, was a shrug and the reassurance that she was simply tired and a little stressed out; and because the more he asked the more upset she became, in the end he decided to let her be.
It wasn't until the following day that he eventually found out what exactly had caused that sudden change in attitude: when Gárwine had told him what had happened between Gáror and Dernda and what the man had accused Lothíriel of, he had stormed out of his study with the intention of riding to Lewes and skin the bloody scumbag alive. It had taken Gárwine all his power of persuasion and immense stock of patience to convince him that a murder was perhaps not the best course of action. And once he had blown off some steam and regained the ability to think straight, he had been forced to admit he was actually right.
Lothíriel couldn't have handled the situation any better. Her judgment had not been hasty nor precipitous, she had granted everybody the chance to speak and defend themselves and even when Dernda had insulted her and implied she was an unfaithful spouse, she had not lost her mind, stood her ground and put the man in his place. As Gárwine had rightfully pointed out, were he to rush to Lewes to inflict on Dernda a harsher punishment than the one Lothíriel had already decided upon, he might have just undermined what authority and respect her strength had earned her: even though allowing the man to get away with his despicable accusations felt wrong, it was indeed the best way to prove that not only he backed Lothíriel's decision, but also that in his absence, hers was the voice of the East-mark just as much as his.
One thing made his decision to let go easier though, and that was the fact Dernda had already signed up for the Midsummer tournament: he only had to make sure their paths would cross and then, he would crash his pathetic little bones and have him grovelling on his knees out of the arena!
With the departure for the chase approaching, in the days that followed Éomer had little to no time at all to spend with Lothíriel. It also didn't help that whenever he managed to find a free moment, she'd promptly find some excuse to avoid him: he had meant to tell her he was proud of how she had handled the situation and that she should not concern herself with what Dernda had told her but in the end, he barely managed to greet her in the morning and bid her goodnight in the evening. And now, observing her as she sat quietly in her cart together with Dúnor and his grandparents, he couldn't help but worrying for also another reason: in spite of Frumgar's approval that she could ride, Lothíriel had been adamant about travelling in a carriage. That itself was not a problem, but upon leaving Aldburg earlier that day it had been impossible not to notice the anxious and almost frightened way she behaved around horses. He could understand that after what had happened with those wargs, she'd be reluctant to jump back in the saddle; and he knew that even though she rarely spoke about it, she had cared deeply for Rohiril and felt guilty for her terrible demise. But he worried that the longer she waited to face her fears, the more difficult it was going to be to get her back on a horse.
Holding back Firefoot, Éomer briefly entertained the idea of offering Lothíriel to ride with him; he quickly changed his mind however, when he realized that would have only served to upset her even more. So finally resigning himself to the idea of waiting a little longer until he'd be able to speak with her and reassure her there was nothing to worry about, he spurred his horse forward.
It was the mid-afternoon when they finally arrived at the camping site and shortly after, him and a few others set off to scour the woods and ensure the safety of the encampment: "Who will you be hunting with?", asked Wulf as they advanced towards the top of the hill.
"After last year's disaster, my initial intention was to team up with Gárwine".
"That must have broken poor Éothain's heart", grinned Torfrith, watching carefully over his shoulder to ensure the man was out of earshot.
The previous year – just as they had always done before, Éothain and him had joined the chase together. They hadn't managed to catch anything during the first day but on the second one, they had spotted some very promising tracks. In the sultriness of an unusually warm summer, they had followed them deep into the woods: time and again they had climbed down a hill and up the next, until he had been this close to conceding defeat and return to the camp. But then, he had seen it: the biggest boar he had ever laid eyes upon! About thirty inches tall and surely over two hundred pounds in weight, it would have made for a great roast and also earned them a sweeping victory in the hunting contest. They had approached him carefully but right when he had been ready to make his move, Éothain had turned suddenly green and collapsed on the ground, emptying his stomach of its content – a hefty breakfast and the outrageous amount of ale and liquors he had chocked down the evening before. Needless to say, his gasps had spooked the boar who hadn't thought twice about charging full speed ahead, with the result that the day had almost turned into tragedy.
"Luck is on his side", grunted Éomer as he advanced through the thick forest: "Between his broken nose and the fact Freca has caught a mild fever, Gárwine has decided to stay in Aldburg. I have no other option but teaming up with him but I swear that if I catch him drinking more than a couple of ales between today and tomorrow, I'll use him as a bait!".
Both Wulf and Torfrith burst out laughing while behind them, Éothain shot them a curious look and quickened his pace: "What's so funny?".
"Nothing, nothing", assured him Wulf, the corner of his mouth twitching. When a light drizzle started falling on them, he lifted his eyes towards the gloomy sky and scratched his beard: "Let's hope the weather will improve".
"Wilrun doesn't like hunting in the rain?", teased him Torfrith.
"She can hunt in any weather, but her mother will threaten to divorce me if I bring her back soaked wet. And if by any chance she'll get a cold, I'll never hear the end of it!".
"Be happy that she's still willing to join the chase together with you", consoled him Torfrith: "To Trewyn, I'm too old and boring to be fit as a hunting partner!".
Éomer bit down a snarky comment aimed at his friend's daughter and as they reached the clearing atop the hill, he signalled two of his younger riders. Despite the area being relatively safe, with so many women and children camping nearby he wasn't going to take any chance: he'd leave guards in a few strategic positions so that should anything try sneaking on them, they'd know it well in advance.
With the safety of the encampment now finally ensured, Éomer sent Éothain and Wulf back to the camp, while him and Torfrith split and went looking for firewood. He was but a few hundred feet from the first tents, when he stumbled into Dúnor; obviously keen on doing his part, the boy too had been collecting wood and his arms were loaded with a good haul of remarkably dry-looking twigs: "Not bad", he told him with a wink.
Dúnor smiled, revealing a gap where his incisors used to be: "Quality over quantity, my Lord", he declared with a weasel look on his face.
He didn't know if it was Lothíriel's influence, but the boy was definitely growing sassy! "Is this your first chase?", he asked.
"Yes", he confirmed, staring in disgust at a worm-infested tree trunk.
"And? Are you excited?".
He paused and thought long about it: "I'm excited for the hunting contest. And for the horseracing! I suppose I should be excited for Lothíriel's lessons too", he then added with some hesitation, "but I'm a little afraid".
"Lessons?".
"I can't swim", he admitted, his voice low as if he felt ashamed, "and when I told Lothíriel, she said she would teach me. I thought it a great idea but now that I see the lake, I'm not so sure anymore".
Glancing at it, it was easy to understand why Dúnor was so concerned: under the rain of the pasts few days the rivers had swell with muddy waters which in turned, had caused the lake to grow dark and murky. Not very appealing at all! "You'll change your mind once the weather improves. Besides, who better than a true Amrothian lady could give you a swimming lesson? You should consider yourself lucky, really: my instructor was an old friend of my father who just tossed me in the water and left me alone to fend for myself!".
"He did what?", gasped Dúnor horrified.
"Yes, you heard it right", he laughed. "But don't worry, I'm sure Lothíriel will be a better and more patient teacher".
"I hope so!", said Dúnor, taking a few steps towards the edge of the woods. Not far below them, an unusually large number of tents had already been mounted - spending the night with nothing but a starry sky above you was beautiful to be sure, but no one was keen on sleeping under a pounding rain. Walking alone along one of the streams feeding into the lake, Éomer spotted Lothíriel's unmistakable figure. The limp was still there, but with each further day her steps were becoming faster and steadier. Dúnor too observed her and knowing what a perceptive young man he was, he should have not been surprised by his next words: "She seems sad these days".
Éomer rested a hand on his bony shoulder: "I know".
"I asked her why, but she wouldn't say. Did you make her sad?", he asked and judging by his tone, he had the distinct impression that if forced to pick a side, the boy would always be team Lothíriel.
"No", said Éomer, though perhaps the answer to that question was way more complicated than that.
Lothíriel advanced through the bushes until she had finally reached the yellow flowers she had spotted from the river. She filled her basket with as many as she could find, then carefully moved on.
Her eyes fixed on the ground, she used her feet to shove aside the blades of grass and check what was hiding underneath. She roamed around for a while, so engrossed in searching out the soil that she didn't see the juniper tree until she almost bumped into it. She picked all the berries at arm's reach and as she then moved back towards the river, she found abundant watercress growing on its shores. She put down the basket and kneeling on a flat stone, she collected the herb: it was stronger than she had thought and not for the first time that day, she wished she had taken a knife with her.
"May I help you?", spoke a voice behind her.
Lothíriel jumped on her feet and snapped around, but almost immediately lost her footing and had it not been for the stranger's timely help, she'd have taken an early plunge into the water. "I'm sorry", he apologized, guiding her gently at a safe distance from the river: "I had not meant to spook you".
"It's alright, I simply did not hear you approaching", reassured him Lothíriel, and it was only then that she recognized who he was: "Háca, right?".
The man gave her a dashing smile, his arm indulging around her waist: "Pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, my Lady".
Uncomfortable with the man's excessive confidence and proximity, Lothíriel stepped back and retrieved her basket: "I remember seeing you training with Éomer for the tournament", she pointed out, emphasizing the word training just enough to remind the man that all in all, he hadn't exactly made a good impression that day.
If he caught the hint, Háca hid it well enough behind a condescending grin: "Should you be wandering alone?".
Growing quickly irritated by his persistence, Lothíriel crossed her arms: "I'm in sight of the encampment and there are plenty of guards around: I'm hardly alone out here!", she scoffed.
"Even so, it would be advisable to exercise caution: nobody – Lord Éomer least of all, wants you to make any further unpleasant encounters in the woods".
Lothíriel was about to explain him that as far as unpleasant encounters go, she had already had her share when he had decided to stalk on her. But she was spared the effort: "Shouldn't you be at the camp?".
"What for?", asked Háca, obviously annoyed by Éothain's sudden appearance.
"Don't know. Digging a latrine, falling on your own sword… I can think of plenty of things you could be doing which are better and more useful than pestering your Marshall's wife".
"I was simply concerned for Lady Lothíriel's safety", he declared. He took her hand, kissed it and after one last scowl at Éothain's direction, he took his leave and retreated back towards the encampment.
"Bloody moron", muttered Éothain, staring at Háca's back in a way that Lothíriel wouldn't have been surprised, had the man been engulfed by a sudden burst of flames. "I hope he didn't bother you too much and of course, you can wander on your own around here. Éomer has placed so many guards that I doubt even a squirrel can make it to the tents without someone raising the alarm".
"He was starting to annoy me, but you saw to that".
"Have you been collecting healing herbs?", asked Éothain, his eye falling on the basket hanging from her arm.
"Yes. Frumgar mentioned the other day he was running out of a few of them, so I thought I could help him".
"What did you find?".
"Let's see: I have tormentil, juniper berries and watercress".
Éothain took a peek inside the basket: "I must admit, I have no idea what they are used for".
"Tormentil is very powerful against parasites. The seeds inside the juniper berries are used in a concoction that helps inducing labour. And watercress is helpful with preventing loose teeth", she explained to a very impressed Éothain.
"I didn't know you were expert".
"I am not", she chuckled, "but because of my leg, I've been spending a lot of time with Frumgar. His house is stuffed with concoctions, salves and ointments; I once asked him about them and found out the world of medicinal herbs is way more interesting than I thought it would be. It's fascinating, really: a bit like brewing a magic potion – minus the magic, of course".
Éothain smiled, obviously amused: "I shall better leave lady sorceress work in peace then".
"Wait", called him Lothíriel: "I never had the chance to thank you".
"For what? Getting rid of mister pretty face back there?", he said, pointing with his thumb at the direction Háca had taken. "That was a pleasure, one I'd be glad to reiterate at any time!".
Lothíriel didn't doubt that. However, that was not what she had been talking about: "My mother's necklace: you are the one who found it. It's one of the few things I can remember her by and to see it returned when I thought it lost, meant a lot to me. Thank you, Éothain".
He stared at her for a moment, his face then melting into a smile that was equally merry and melancholic: "Do you mind if I keep you company for a while?".
"No, of course not. I was anyway done with collecting herbs".
They sat next to each other and for a while, all they did was observing in silence the people rushing around the encampment: some were busy setting up the bonfire, others were mounting the last tents, and more than a few seemed already quite inebriated. "You and I, we got off on the wrong foot", he told her at last.
"We did. But then again, I started my whole life in Rohan off the wrong foot, so you're in good company".
"Still, I should have known better than behaving the way I did".
"Yes. In hindsight, mocking me to my face hasn't been a great idea".
Éothain groaned and rubbed his face: "You knew it?".
"I could not understand what you were saying, but your impersonation of the spoiled Gondorian princess was accurate enough to be rather obvious. And at least partially deserved, I supposed".
"I'm sorry, my Lady", he apologized mortified. "From the very beginning I was against this marriage: it angered me to see my best friend throwing away his future for the sake of a political alliance I've never been convinced of in the first place. I told him a thousand times he should have rejected his cousin's plan, but of course he didn't; such a fool I was, that I decided I did not like you long before I even had a chance to meet you. Little did I know you'd have proven yourself a better person than the most of us; and little did I know Éomer would have found happiness by your side".
Lothíriel's head snapped towards him, to which he laughed and gave her a playful little nudge: "Come now, did you really need me to tell you that? When it comes to such things, Éomer is not exactly a master of deception!".
She looked away, her cheeks no doubt flaring scarlet. Seeing her embarrassment, Éothain wisely decided to revert back to the original matter of discussion: "So, now that I've confessed being a fool and that you admitted that should Éomer ban me from his Éored, I have a future as court jester; do you think we could start over?".
"Like pretending you didn't spend a week mocking me, and I didn't spend the same time mistreating and humiliating my husband's squire – to whom I still have to find the courage to apologize?".
"Precisely".
Lothíriel smiled and extended her hand: "You may call me Lothíriel. Nice to meet you".
Éothain stood and performed a very theatrical bow, but stopped short of kissing her hand: "Do you mind if I skip this part? You know, since Háca just kissed it…".
"Oh dear, I shall better wash it!", declared Lothíriel, holding her hand to her chest.
"More like scrubbing it clean", snorted Éothain, to which they both burst out laughing. "I shall better head back now; will you join me, or would you rather stay here a little longer?"
Lothíriel stood and placed her hand under his arm: "I think I've collected enough herbs for today. Let's go".
Éothain escorted her back to her tent and there, their ways parted. She observed him disappearing into the crowd and after some thinking, she decided to have walk around and see if she could find Éomer. With the rain finally granting them a break and patches of blue sky replacing the thick clouds, the place was quickly coming to life. The bonfire was almost ready to be lit and around it, stools and other improvised seats had been arranged in a broad circle.
With the help of several maids, Aldburg's cook was preparing what looked like a giant pot of stew and several roasted chickens; there were a few dogs around his feet, whimpering and wagging their tails in the hope of getting something to crunch on, but the man totally ignored them, occasionally muttering a curse whenever he stumbled on one of them.
At the far end of the camp, she found Eofor helping with the horses. Firefoot had already been taken care of and was grazing lazily on a pile of hay, occasionally whinnying whenever one of the other mounts came too close to his stash. A short-tempered horse for a short-tempered master, she thought with a grin, though that was hardly any fair: Firefoot had a much worse temper than Éomer! She remembered once while on her way to visit Rohiril she had accidentally passed too close to his box in the stables, and immediately his head had peered out to see who dared disturbing his peace!
The thought of her mare somewhat tampering her mood, Lothíriel walked wide around the improvised enclosure where the horses were being accommodated and roamed around some more. It wasn't until some time later that she finally spotted Éomer coming out of the woods: he was carrying a young deer across his shoulder and much to her dislike, he had Trewyn following him closely behind. She lost sight of them but found them shortly after speaking with the cook, who seemed quite satisfied with that unexpected addition to the menu. Half-hidden behind a pole, she silently observed them: they were a little too far and were speaking a bit too fast for her to understand every word, but apparently the girl had stumbled into the doe while searching for firewood and did not miss on the chance of an early opening of the hunting contest. The cook seemed amazed that they had managed to find game so close to the encampment, to which Trewyn whispered something in Éomer's ear. He burst out laughing and they seemed to share a joke at the expenses of the cook, for the man stared defiantly at them, holding an admonishing finger in the air.
"They'd have made for a great couple, wouldn't you agree?".
Lothíriel turned around and wasn't surprised to see Godliss standing there, eyeing her friend with a sad smile: "Everybody thought they'd have married one day, but things turned out differently", she told her, before adding in an apologetic tone: "Different doesn't mean worse, of course". She placed a hand on her shoulder - as if to comfort her, and then left.
Leaning against the pole, Lothíriel took a deep breath and tried thinking rationally: Godliss and Trewyn were best friends; they were also harpies – as she had had the opportunity to experience for herself; to boot, they both had a thing for Éomer. All in all, those should have been more than enough reasons to forget about what the girl had just told her. Yet the more she looked at Éomer and Trewyn standing side by side, the more Godliss' words echoed in her head: they would have made for a great couple, wouldn't you agree?
She did. Éomer was a handsome man, so different from the ones of Gondor: his blond hair and dark eyes surely set him apart, but there was more to that. Something she herself was not quite sure how to explain. One thing she knew though, and that was that with his golden appearance Éomer was Rohan's faultless embodiment. And so was Trewyn: tall, strong, fierce with her short sword hanging from her belt and the bow on her back, beautiful in spite of her muddy cheeks and stained clothes.
The more she looked at her, the more Lothíriel felt sorry, out of place, miserable even.
Sorry for Éomer, for hadn't it been for her and their arranged marriage, he could have surely found a much better wife for himself. Out of place because in spite of her best efforts, she knew she'd never be a shieldmaiden, never be the type of woman young girls look up to. Miserable because the more time she spent with Éomer, the more she wished she could be part of his and Rohan's life, the least she thought she could.
If he had hoped that finding a moment to speak to Lothíriel would have been easier once at the encampment, Éomer was soon proved sorely wrong. Between scouting the hills, collecting woods and helping Trewyn with her unexpected hunt, by the time he came back to the camp it was already dusk and in no time, he was sitting around the main bonfire with a generous portion of venison in his plate and a mug of ale in his hand.
He looked around for Lothíriel but unsurprisingly, she was nowhere to be seen. He was starting to think she might have retired already, when he finally spotted her sitting by one of the smaller fires which had been lit by the shore of the lake. She had a drowsy-looking Dúnor sitting in her lap while beside her, his grandmother was chattering non-stop in her ear. He honestly doubted she even heard half of what the old woman was telling her, for she stared intently into the flames, her mind obviously far away.
And it was Dúnor's words which came back to him in that moment: she seems sad these days.
Ever since returning to Aldburg, Lothíriel had effectively shut him out. Not only she blatantly avoided him, but she also stubbornly denied being troubled about something. But behind the placid façade she had put up, Bema knew to which extent she had been tormenting herself. Because ironically, the only thing that equalled that inner strength she didn't even know she possessed, was an ingrained, deep-rooted insecurity: she doubted her courage, doubted her intelligence, probably doubted her appearance even! And by now, Dernda's words had most likely dug a giant black hole in her head.
Éomer stood and dropping his plate in the hands of the first person he came across, he made his way through the encampment. He dodged the smith who wanted to share a drink with him, ignored the call of a group of riders, played deaf – and blind, when the music started and someone tried to get him to join the dance. When he sighted Trewyn and Godliss on his way, he steered towards the side of the camp and opted for a longer – but hopefully calmer way to get to his destination. He circled around the horses' enclosure and when upon rounding the corner he realized Lothíriel was no longer sitting by the fire, he muttered a half-curse and looked around. He eventually found her heading towards her tent, with Dúnor fast-asleep in her arms: "Lothíriel wait!", he called her.
She froze, hesitated for a moment before turning around: "We were just about to retire", she promptly informed him.
"I can take him", he offered.
"That won't be necessary, we are anyway almost there".
"His tent is on the other side of the camp, better I do it".
"No", she said shaking her head: "He was feeling a little down today so I told him he could sleep in my tent".
"What happened?".
"The other children made fun of him for not being able to swim".
"I see", sighed Éomer. Children could be the most innocent, darling creatures; or the most ruthless, naughty ones. To this day, he still remembered Théocanstan, the son of a rider in his uncle's Éored. He had only met him a couple of times when visiting Edoras with his parents, but that was enough to make quite the impression: in spite of being one year younger than himself, Théocanstan totally dwarfed him. He was tall, strong, and surely a promising budding rider. But he was born… different. His hair was white, his skin pale, his eyes a weird blue-greyish colour. The other children were constantly making fun of him and calling him all sorts of mocking names. Until one day, his father decided he had had enough: he left the Éored and took Théocanstan to live in an isolated hut, somewhere on the slopes of the White Mountains. Éomer never saw or heard of him ever again.
"He'll be aright", he reassured Lothíriel, "after all, he will soon be swimming better than a fish!".
"True", said Lothíriel with a stretched smile. "I shall better go now: I'm feeling myself quite worn out".
"If I promise I won't keep you up for long, will you join me for a drink?", he proposed.
"Maybe another time".
"Just one drink and then I'll escort you personally to your tent".
Lothíriel turned and just like that, she walked away: "Tired as I am, I wouldn't anyway make for a great company", she told him looking over her shoulder.
Not quite ready to give up yet, Éomer rushed after her: "Come, it's unbecoming to make me beg you!", he insisted with a teasing smile. But all he achieved, was the exact opposite of what he had hoped for: "Can't you take a no for an answer? I said I'm calling it a night, end of discussion!", snapped Lothíriel.
She circled around him and made haste towards her tent: "You can't avoid me forever; you know that, right?", told her Éomer.
She didn't even care for answering, slipping inside her tent and immediately securing the flap behind her. Shortly after, she extinguished the candles and then, it was all silent.
Éomer pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. Chasing her now would only lead to an even worse outburst and causing a scene in a place that offered zero privacy, was probably not a good idea. So after one last glance at her tent, he walked away and wandered aimlessly around. Between the weather finally improving and the ale starting to flow, the mood was as merry and loud as ever, with people dancing and singing in almost every corner. Not far from the main bonfire he stumbled into Éothain, perched on a stool, the children from the orphanage sitting in circle around him.
"…and so there I was, standing atop the bastion and scanning the horizon in search of our enemies. And then", he said with a dramatic pause, "I heard it".
A little girl shuddered and hid her face in the tunic of the boy sitting next to her.
"Just a rattling at first and I thought: Éothain, you won't let some little mice scare you! But the rattling came closer, and closer, and closer even. And soon, I realized it was no longer the rustling of some little rodent over the autumn leaves. No: it was a growl; and the scraping of long claws on the bare stone of the tower. So, I unsheathed my swords and with my heart pounding in my chest, I cried: come forth, for I do not fear you! I raised my shield and prepared for battle, told myself that whatever devilry was approaching, I would have defeated".
Éothain winked imperceptibly at him and with the children so focused on him and his story, Éomer easily sneaked unnoticed behind.
"Then, I saw it: body of a man, head of a dog, a mouth of sharp teeth awaiting eagerly to devour me. He stared at me and from the depth of his throat soared the most terrifying roar ever heard…".
Éomer took his chance and with a growl worthy of Éothain's story, he leaped forward and lifted in the air the two boys sitting in the back of the group. The children gasped, the scare soon turning into laughter as they recognized him: "Here comes the monster!", he howled, chasing them around until most of them had disappeared into the crowd.
"Works every time", said Éothain with a satisfied grin.
"You're raising another generation of citizens who will be unnecessarily terrified of Aldburg's old tower".
"Unnecessarily? I'm offended: I admit on adding some spooky details for dramatic purposes, but what I said is nothing but the plain truth".
"Really? Half man, half dog?".
"Saw it with my own eyes!".
"What you saw, was an old rabid dog. And you were so drunk, that you though it was some kind of monster", snorted Éomer, snatching two ales from a passing tray.
"Believe what you want, I know what I saw that day", declared Éothain. He made for gobbling the whole content of his mug, but one murderous glare and he stopped, opting instead for a little sip: "Did you manage to speak with your lady?".
"Yes".
"Judging by your scowl, I'm guessing it didn't go very well".
"She more or less cried to my face that she did not wish to have a drink with me".
"Finally, a woman immune to your charm!", mocked him Éothain. Seeing his frown deepening however, he stood and placed a hand on his shoulder: "Don't worry, she'll come around".
That night, Lothíriel couldn't sleep a wink. She tossed and turned in her cot and hadn't it been for Dúnor lying next to her, she'd have probably stood and kicked herself! How could she be so harsh with Éomer, when all he did was trying to understand what was wrong with her? How could she leave him that way, without even saying a single word?
Truth was, she felt torn between two halves. A defiant one, which was confident she could win her battles; and a cowardly one, which kept whispering in her ear that no matter how grand her efforts, she'd always be the same clueless princess who hadn't even realized she was being married off. And Valar did she wish she could silence that latter part! But instead, with every bitter remark and malevolent allusion, it grew all the more cumbersome and harder to live with.
And it shouldn't have. She shouldn't let those people get to her head.
Yes, perhaps life would have been better if Éomer and her had never been brought together that way. But they could not change the past and there was no reason why they couldn't be happy together after all. So clinging on the flickering hope that thought gave her, Lothíriel awaited eagerly for the sun to rise. But of course, shortly before daybreak she finally fell asleep and didn't awake until a few hours later, when Éomer and all those taking part to the hunt had already left.
Knowing there wasn't much she could do apart from waiting and refusing at the same time to just sit around feeling moping and miserable, Lothíriel decided she'd enjoy the day as much as she could. After all, the chase was a once in a year event!
With Wilrun and Runhild both gone for the day, she decided to go for a walk. Just like all had hoped, the weather had cleared and under a bright sun and a blue sky, the lake and the hills surrounding it looked like a totally different place. The water was now a deep blue, the grass looked greener than ever before and with the camp half empty, the place was now quiet and peaceful. Seeing the cook sitting on a boulder by the shore, Lothíriel decided to approach him to see if she could make herself useful somehow: "Morning Almód".
"Good morning, my Lady!", he enthusiastically greeted her.
Almód was what everybody would expect from a cook: a big man, plump and with a full belly, smiley and - at least back home, constantly wearing a flour-dusted apron. "Did you catch anything good?", she asked, nodding at his fishing rod.
"Of course I did! Just take a look over there", he said pointing at a large basket.
Inside were… fishes. Which type, she honestly had no idea: "What are they?".
"You don't know?".
"I'm decently knowledgeable about sea fishes. But freshwater ones, not at all", she admitted.
"Well, let me see: the elongated one with sharply pointed head is a pike, very tasty but tricky too, as it has fine, forked bones; the rounded greenish ones are perches, also quite palatable but not quite as much as the pike – not in my opinion at least; and the eel-looking ones are burbot, best served deep-fried".
"Will you cook them for dinner later today?".
"That's a possibility. Or,", he said leaning towards her, "we could have them for lunch and tell nothing to the others. After all, this is barely enough for the two of us!".
"Agreed", grinned Lothíriel.
Almód stowed away his fishing rod away and made a motion to follow him: "What was your favourite fish back in Dol Amroth?".
"Seabass, without a doubt. I also like sole, all sort of shellfish – clams and scallops especially, and lobster".
"Then I think I know what you might like", pondered he cook. He took a knife and with practiced movements, he cleaned the burbots and reduced their white flesh to bite-sized chunks. He added water and salt in a pot, placed it on the fire and then vanished behind the cart where all his tools and ingredients were stored. He re-emerged some moments later, holding a little flask, some fresh herbs and a cloth inside which was a piece of butter.
"What's in there?", asked Lothíriel intrigued.
"White vinegar", explained Almód. He waited until the water had started to boil, then added a spoon of it and while he waited for it to start bubbling again, he set to work on the rest of the ingredients. He finely chopped the herbs and smashed a clove of garlic, added everything in a saucepan together with the butter, carefully stirred it and let it cook. Seeing the water in the pot had started boiling again, he added the fish chunks and after only a few minutes, he pulled them out and drained them. He placed them in a wooden bowl and poured the sauce on top of them, then added what looked like a mix of salt and pepper: "There you go", he said with a smile, placing the food right in front of her nose.
It surely smelled good!
Lothíriel took one of the smaller chunks and chewed carefully on it, unsure whether there would still be bones inside. But Almód had obviously done an excellent job at cleaning the fishes, and even more at cooking them: "Oh my, this is good!", she said, licking shamelessly her fingers: "And so quick to prepare!".
"The best recipes are the quickest and most simple ones".
She nodded and tossed another piece of fish in her mouth: "The consistency is quite different from that of other fishes. Very firm and the taste… you know what it reminds me of?".
"Lobster?".
"Yes!", cried Lothíriel.
"Why did you think I choose to cook this particular fish?", laughed Almód, helping himself to the biggest chunk of burbot he could find in the bowl.
"The sauce too… delicious!", she mumbled, not even caring she was talking with her mouth full.
"Seems like I finally found something you really like!".
"That's not fair, there are plenty of things you cook that I really like. Your roasts, for example. Or your baked onions. Or that chicken stew with dry raisins you served us last week".
"But not my liver pies I suppose", he teased her with a gentle smile.
"No, not your liver pies", agreed Lothíriel, glad they could both laugh of that whole infamous incident.
"Is there something else you dislike just as much?".
She thought about it for a moment: "It's not as strong as a distaste, but I do hate pickles".
"Pickles?".
"Yes. I don't like pickled vegetables in general, but cucumbers are by far the worse. Even if I remove them from my plate, they anyway leave that awful sour taste behind!", she complained, all the while devouring one piece of fish after the other.
"I'll keep that in mind: no liver, no pickles!", promised Almód. He collected the dirty cookware and as if bracing himself for a great effort, he stretched his neck and took a deep breath: "I shall better start preparations for today's dinner".
Lothíriel gave her hands a quick wash by the river and after some insistence, she managed to convince him to give her something to do. With all the more noble tasks ruled out due to her ineptitude in the kitchen, they all eventually agreed there was only one task she could take care of: peeling a giant amount of potatoes! She wore an apron and sitting between the brazier and Almód's workstation, she got down to work.
It was the early afternoon when the first men started returning from the hunt. Some had not had much luck, others had to make do with smaller targets such as hares and quails, but at least two teams had managed to take down more remarkable preys – a fallow deer and even a young boar. An eye fixed on the woods from which the chasers were coming out, Lothíriel kept working; Wilrun and her father appeared shortly after, carrying a majestic-looking buck that earned them an enthusiastic round of applause. Behind them came Godliss and Trewyn, and she couldn't help but grinning as she noticed they were both empty-handed – and obviously upset by their unsuccessful hunt.
When at long last Éomer emerged from the woods, Lothíriel felt her heart in her throat. He stopped and exploiting his vantage point, scanned the encampment: when his eyes met hers, Lothíriel timidly waved a hand at him and instantly, his face broke into a broad smile. He descended quickly towards the campsite and when Godliss and Trewyn saw him, of course they tried to get his attention with some flirtatious remark. But Éomer didn't as much as looked at them, passing them quickly and even half-moving Trewyn out of the way.
Lothíriel put down her knife and wiped her hands on the apron: "How did the hunt go?".
"Good. Éothain didn't get us killed and we shot down a stag. Even more importantly, I found these".
He kneeled in front of her, took her hand and dropped a whole bunch of berries in it. Blueberries, blackberries; but especially another type: one she had never seen before, and yet knew right away what it was. Lothíriel, you fool.
"Raspberries?", she asked with a smile.
"Yes".
She popped one in her mouth and savoured it slowly. It was tart - just like the confiture, but less sweet and with more of a fresh taste.
"And?", prompted her Éomer, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Lothíriel laid the rest of the fruits in her lap and there was a flash of surprise in Éomer's eyes when she bent towards him: "They're good", she said, her arms locked around his neck and her face pressed against the rough fabric of his tunic.
As if afraid even the smallest movement might have spooked her and ruined the moment for good, Éomer stood perfectly still, his hand only slowly coming to rest on her lower back: "Did you have a nice day?", he asked.
"Very nice one indeed".
"What did you do?".
She was about to tell him about all the unexpected culinary discoveries she had made, when she noticed Éothain coming out of the woods, struggling to carry a heavy looking stag towards the encampment. He stumbled on the steep slope of the hill and almost fell on the antlers: "I'd love to tell you, but don't you think you should help your hunting partner first?".
Author's notes: tough many of you wished Éomer had given Dernda a lesson, he decided not to. It might seem a questionable decision, but Éomer doesn't want people to respect Lothíriel just out of fear of what he might do to defend her. Rushing to Lewes like a madman would have served his ego but in the long term, it would have been nothing but harmful for Lothíriel's reputation. And though it took our dear princess some time to understand she shouldn't let rumours and unfounded accusations to come between her and Éomer, she's finally there and ready to enjoy the remaining time at the camp.
Beancdn: indeed! :)
pineapple-pancake: she did a great job but as it was to be expected, Dernda's words stayed with her. She also reacted the worse possible way, isolating herself and choosing to brood over those accusations instead of allowing Éomer to put her mind at ease. Godliss was also smart at seizing the right moment and playing on her doubts; but as Éothain predicted, in the end Lothíriel did come around it and now. After a disastrous start, Éomer is pretty much doing everything right and now, is up to Lothíriel to do the same and avoid falling into the easy traps of jealous and spiteful people.
tyskvalkyrja: nice to hear you enjoyed it! :)
Luinwen-2013: she did take a very mature stance with Meregith and hopefully, it will play out!
AmandaBaker852: one little step at a time!
Menelwen: Éomer was very sweet and attentive and slowly but surely, Lothíriel is coming to see him for who he really is. Meregith will be a bit of a gamble, but Lothíriel's approach was definitely wise and the best she could do under the current circumstances. At such rimes, I doubt the fact they are not sharing the bed could ever be considered a secret. There are plenty of maids working in the hall and alas, people like to talk.
Guest: he'll give him the lesson he deserved, but also wisely chose to make clear that Lothíriel's decisions are his decisions.
Guest: of course he almost set out to kill Dernda, I mean did we really expect anything else from someone with his temper? :)
rossui: she handled everything perfectly. Now, she only needs to become a little more confidence about her relationship with Éomer.
xXMizz Alec VolturiXx: they both nailed it in that chapter :)