Chapter 38
Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth felt nothing but pride to name his three sons. Elphir, Erchirion and Amrothos. They were tall and strong, with the elven blood strong in their veins. They had ever brought him joy, as had the sons of his sister, Finduilas. Though she had perished in the stone city, her sons were as dear to his heart as his own, and it had grieved him greatly to learn of Boromir's death. The pain of his passing had been no lesser than that of his sister, though he knew many had fared worse.
If he was proud of his sons, then he was near more so of his daughter. Lothíriel, with her gentle inborn grace. So alike her mother in so many ways, and other times, he saw so much of himself in her.
When he met a young warrior of Rohan on the field of battle outside the city on the Pelennor fields he had been impressed by the strength and the ferocity of the rider. Though many deeds of great valour had been seen on that field, most noteworthy that of Éowyn of Rohan defeating the Witch King, there had been others of no less valour. A grey stallion at the command of his master stood in front of a charging oliphant, while others fled and were crushed under the enormous animals, trampled under their feet like mere ants, this warrior did not flee. Instead he threw his spear, and brought down not just one, but two of the beasts with one spear. A feat worthy of song, and learning whom the warrior was had brought them closer.
Imrahil had seen his grief as he saw his sister stricken on the field, seen the mad furry that nearly saw him to his end, and he had also seen the love he felt for his sister in the houses of healing.
At the time, he had not thought of his daughter, and not even on the field of Cormallen when they celebrated their victory had he thought to make a match of them. That match had been their own doing, but it had gladdened him to see it. His daughter, demure and graceful, a little shy at times if secure in herself, and the brash young warrior, reckless even, stubborn and relentless. No, they were not the match he had imagined for his daughter, but he felt nothing but pride to claim Éomer as his kin.
He had rode with the funeral procession of King Théoden and sought to advise the young man in his new role as King. Éomer had an inner strength that was rare and served him well in his new role, giving Imrahil confidence that he would serve his people well.
As bold and brash as he was with his men, he was also gentle and attentive. Once he realised that his young friend and his daughter were courting, thought Éomer himself did not seem to know it, he had done nothing to dissuade them. Indeed he had encouraged it and it was with joy he invited Éomer to Dol Amroth to see the home of his future wife, and so that perhaps the matter could be moved forward swiftly. He felt no concern for his daughter's virtue, if some that an overzealous son would cause the young king to think twice.
Upon arriving in Dol Amroth it had been a joy to watch the riders of Rohan as they took in the ocean. None of the warriors, either their King, or the guard he had been forced to take with him had ever seen the magnificent splendour of the sea before.
Seated on their horses they gazed out over the rolling waves, stretching as far as the eye could see. Entranced they stood until Éomer shook his head, reaching forward a hand to stroke the neck of his stallion. "We have fields that roll like this, with the grass moving like waves in the wind, and I have always heard them compared to the waves of the sea. But they are green and not blue, and one can ride across them and never fear for drowning. This, I do not know what to make of."
"The sea can give life, and take it," Imrahil stated. "We get fish and other things to live on, but one must be ever vigilant for she can be a cruel mistress and turn on you. The storms will shatter the boats and wash the remains upon the shore. The tide can come swiftly and trap men on a beach that moments before was nothing but sand. I think we can show you her splendour, but I caution you to go alone."
"Have no fear, my men know better than to seek a useless death," Éomer stated. "And our horses has courage, the sea would not trap us easily."
"I will see to it that some of my men see to yours," Imrahil smiled softly. "They shall be able to show them where it is safe to go, and ascertain they experiences the bounty of the sea as well. As for you, I think my sons and I can see to it that you do the same. I imagine we shall have a splendid supper waiting for us."
"I think I speak for all of my men when I say as long as it is hot and plenty, we shall enjoy it without fail," the young King smiled easily as they had moved into the city.
There was however no doubt in Imrahil's mind that they enjoyed the city as they rode through it. Not having suffered a full attack as had Helm's Deep and Minas Tirith, the city was much untouched. The sea had brought them food through the war and the people had not needed starve. The beautiful white stone houses lined the streets, and market stalls still displayed their wares.
Éomer looked around himself in pleased awe, and Imrahil had felt his heart swell with pride to be able to show his home. He'd seen to it that the Riders of Rohan were given billet in the barracks, and Firefoot given a large stall in the stable. It was not quite like the stable in Gondor, but it was clean, warm and dry and he saw no censor in the eyes of his friend. He introduced him to his children, and was glad when they spoke easily and with friendship.
The supper laid out for them was indeed magnificent, smoked shrimp, fish of many kinds served with different sauces. Lobsters laying red on their platters together with large crabs. Imrahil showing Éomer how to use the tongs and the spikes to crack the shell and pry the meat out of them.
Even more pleasant had he found showing his friend the sandy beach and the ocean the following day. Firefoot had played in the water like a young colt. Encouraged by Éomer who had forgone saddle and rode him bareback down to the beach.
Where many displayed caution and would only go to the very beginning of the surf where it lapped the sand, Éomer had given a loud whoop and galloped straight into the foaming surf. It was easy to see the skill of the rider, when Firefoot reared up on his hind legs to beat his front hoofs at the top of a wave, and Éomer effortlessly remained on his back.
Given how the young warrior had seemed to take delight in the experience, horse and rider flying down the beach with water splashing from the hooves, he could not fathom why a few days later his guest seemed in quite a foul mood. He was civil and a most gracious guest, but whenever he would see the sea outside a window his eyes would darken and he would scowl at the display.
"Éomer, what troubles you?" the remains of their dinner lay behind them on the table, and the large bay doors had been opened onto a balcony where the gentle lapping of the waves could easily be heard. Dusk hid the water, but the moon still glistened on its surface. It had at first amused him how a lobster had been reduced to a small pile of broken shell, but for all the ferocity he had displayed in battling with the meal, he seemed to have enjoyed very little of it. "You do not seem happy, and I would ask you tell me the reason, for I enjoy your company here and would ask to have it a while longer still. Though if our city cause you such trouble, I would know it."
Elphir had poured wine for himself and his father, but Éomer had declined, finding more pleasure in ale.
"Tis a strange place this," the blonde warrior gestured to the darkness past the balcony. "With falsehood in the depth of the ocean, and food that wears armour. I do not understand it, and that is my trouble with it."
"Falsehood?" Imrahil frowned. "There are creatures in the depth of which you must exercise great care, but none that I would call false."
"It is our fault father," Elphir stated with a small smile. "We found our guest had been told of the horses of the sea, and longed to see them, so we were able to show him one. I fear however they were much too small for his liking."
"A horse, that creature is not," Éomer stated.
"Named for their snouts, I think," Imrahil mused. "Which does in truth resemble that of a horse, but if you expected a creature that could be ridden, then they would be a great disappointment indeed."
"They have no right to call themselve by the name of horse," Éomer declared with great feeling. Causing Imrahil to hide his mirth behind the rim of the cup. "They are fit for neither bridle or saddle, and not even half a Hobbit could ride them." The king continued, obviously feeling betrayed by the creature.
"I did not think you would find the food so strange," Elphir offered with a frown while Imrahil brought his features in check. "I do understand your disappointment, and had I known what outrageous tale you had been told of them before, I would have taken more care in showing them. But I thought there were crayfish in the rivers of Rohan, surely they are not so far from lobsters?"
"They may look similar, but one can get them open with nothing but teeth and fingers," Éomer threw a glare over his shoulder towards the table. "One does not need to engage them in armed combat in order to win a mere morsel. It is a battle that when one regards the spoils, hardly seems worth the effort. One spends more energy in getting at it, than one gains once it has been got."
"Mostly they are a food eaten for pleasure, not for the need for food," Imrahil smiled. "And I should say it was a battle you won, for your opponent most certainly lies defeated yonder. But I take your point, and I beg you do not hold our liking for it against us."
"I would be a poor guest if I did," Éomer shook his head. "Forgive me, my friend, I fear my heart simply thinks of home and duties, and it makes it harder to enjoy this respite."
"The duty of a King is a heavy burden, I would lighten it for a moment if I could," Imrahil mused. "It would certainly be no trouble having some more heartier food brought."
"Thank you, I am well for the time being," Éomer glanced out the window. "Tell me, I've heard of the white horses roaming the sea at storm, is it the same deceitful creature, or do you have one worthy of the name?"
"Worse I fear, not a creature at all, but the white caps of the waves at storm," Imrahil shook his head.
"The sea is indeed strange," Éomer shook his head. "Though not without its delight. I was never meant to be cooped up inside stone, and Firefoot was never one for long stays in the stable. Unless there is reason to beware the sea this night, I would take him down to the beach. I think we should both feel much better for it."
"Tis a fine night, but one must watch the tide," Elphir put his goblet down having drained it. "I for one would not mind a bit of air, would you mind my company?"
"Not at all," Éomer decided. "Though Firefoot might not be inclined to slow his pace for you."
"I have a horse that is quite fast, it shall be a delight to see if your noble steed must slow his pace, or if he shall have to keep up."
Eyes bright Éomer stood, in better spirits for the mere thought of a worthy race and when Imrahil stood himself on the balcony, it was to see the magnificent grey stallion fly down the beach.
A Temporary End... Please review, the Cricket is hungry...
Additional Author's note: Some of these stories might not fit into the Tolkien timeline, I apologise for this, I have not yet been able to procure an English copy, and therefor there has been things I was unaware of while writing. Some I've changed, some I've left as I liked them.
Most of the Rohirric I use, is, as I believe Tolkien himself used, Old English. Though some is modern Swedish, as, frighteningly enough, these are quite often the same. In order to give the story a more pleasant flow for the reader, I have opted not to use a glossary at the end, rather, I try to make the meaning very clear in the story.