Amrothos' Interlude


Amrothos could not stand by and do nothing. That is not what love was to him.

Love meant more than sacrifice, kindness or dedication.

Sometimes love meant interference, manipulation and conflict.

Love meant taking matters into his own hands for her sake.

And he loved Lothíriel with all of his heart. There was no one like her in his life.

Perhaps it was like that because Naneth had died, leaving behind her memories in their hearts and her likeness in her daughter. More than once Erchirion had told Amorothos that he should not confuse his sister for his own mother, but he did not care what he had to say in the first place. Logic and rationales mattered not to Amrothos.

He just truly admired his sister.

Like the sea, she was always in motion, tending to this duty or pursuing that passion. She was full of potential, love and strength. In a lot of ways, she was like their father, who was tenacious, ambitious and loyal. Amrothos was certain that if she was given the chance, she would be a beloved and formidable leader like Imrahil. It was unfortunate that women had to look towards their husbands for the chance to be more than a supporting character in their own lives.

No wonder the uptight prick Lord Forgammon had coaxed her into a courtship with visions of independence and entrepreneurship.

But Forgammon would not care for Lothíriel the way a good spouse would.

Yes, he was attracted to her, but that was no feat. He was more interested in the benefits of marrying a Princess of Dol Amroth. Once that man got what he wanted, he would ignore her existence and live his life regardless of what she wanted. She would be lonely and neglected, like Aunt Finduilas. Though more of a modest nature, she too had had her own ambitions and passions. However, after Denethor had drained her spirit, she had been a mere husk of a person, wasting away as her grasp on reality weakened until reality itself relinquished its hold on her existence.

Amrothos' heart clenched painfully as he stalked his way towards the kitchens.

So many better people had offered for Lothíriel hand in marriage and he had chased them all away. And the War, too, had taken countless lives, including those of eligible bachelors of good standing and character. There was only one man alive who stood above the others in terms of personality, power and grace.

Éomer King.

The only problem was that the King of Rohan did not want to marry.

Or at least he said that, but Amrothos had started questioning that because he had been observing him. At first, it had been out of genuine concern for his friend, but when he had noticed a pattern in his behaviour, he had started tracking his behaviour more attentively.

Éomer had been stealing glances at Lothíriel.

Indeed, he had been outright staring at her when he thought no one was looking. And if Lord Forgammon was near her, Éomer was not frugal with his glares, either.

Yet it was not the staring and glaring that had convinced Amrothos of Éomer's genuine interest in Lothíriel. After all, many others enjoyed looking at the Princess and many others glared at Forgammon too. Lust and irritation, respectively, were commonplace.

No, it had been Erchirion's betrothal that made matters obvious to Amrothos. By a stroke of luck, Éomer had been there when Faramir and Imrahil spoke of a betrothal in the Dol Amroth family. Erchirion had been keeping his courtship secret, so naturally one would assume that it was about Lothíriel's betrothal.

Éomer certainly did seem to think so, and Amrothos had been there to witness the effect of that news on the young King from the North.

A shadow of despair had come over the warrior King's face and it had remained there for a long time.

Odd though it had seemed to Amrothos in the beginning, it became apparent when he took the time to reflect on what he knew about the friendship between his sister and his friend.

Despite Éomer's refusal to marry, they had liked each other well enough for her to send him medicine. Furthermore, Éomer had sent her a Rohanese heirloom; a gesture that had meant that he trusted her and appreciated her. No doubt they had run into each other when they both had been in Minas Tirith, yet after Lothíriel had returned in November, she had not had any correspondence with the Rohirrim King. That had indicated some kind of trouble between them and that was all he knew of it.

Nevertheless, the behaviour of Éomer since the arrival of Faramir spoke of things beyond Amrothos' knowledge. Éomer was not in the habit of looking at other women, except for an occasional look of awe for Queen Arwen. But now Amrothos knew there was an exemption to that rule; a change in the Northman's habits.

Just before the betrothal ceremony, his sister had entered Merethrond on her father's arm in full Swan Princess splendour. Amrothos, walking just behind her, had observed very closely how Éomer had gazed upon her with admiration and longing, his eyes unwavering from her graceful form.

When Imrahil and Lothíriel had taken their place on the dais, his expression had darkened and he had made no effort to hide his troubled look. It was true that the people of Rohan were not afraid to feel, and Éomer was no exception to this.

Amrothos' amusement and wonder had been no less when Éomer's troubled look had turned to one of shock the second Minieth had appeared. Indeed, watching the blonde warrior had been so comical that Amrothos had barely remembered to give the necklace to Lothíriel during the betrothal ceremony.

Even after the ceremony, when dinner had been served, Amrothos had continued to register every single one of Éomer's glances and stares at his sister, and thus both Amrothos and Éomer had ended up eating very little that evening.

He had looked upon Lothíriel with such longing, that Amrothos had been taken aback by the sight of it. Then he had recalled that his friend's strange insistence to apologize for his refusal to each of the Princes of Dol Amroth, with such sincerity and perhaps something akin to pain, that it would be no surprise that he had had feelings for Lothíriel since the very start. And that he tried to alleviate his own unhappiness at having to refuse the union by apologizing to others.

If there was anyone worthy of his sister, then it was Éomer, son of Éomund, a noble warrior who had come into power unwillingly and unexpectedly, and who was currently doing whatever he could to do right by his people and by his ancestors. At that time, Amrothos had been relieved that Lothíriel would not marry Éomer, but now he could only regret his behaviour.

Ulmo knew how foolish he felt meddling in his sister's future with Éomer. But if he wanted to save his sister from being squeezed dry by that opportunistic prick, he would need Éomer to realize his feelings and then act upon them.

Finally, he arrived at the rooms of the King of Rohan and he spoke to the guard. "Please inform the King that his dear friend, Prince Amrothos of Dol Amroth, is here."

"Aye, sir."

Not a minute later, Amrothos knocked at the door to Éomer's office and opened it without waiting for an answer.

Éomer, who had been leaning on his desk, reading through a letter from Erkenbrand, looked up with a smile. "Amrothos, my friend, what bring you here at this late hour?"

The young Prince held up two mugs and two large bottles of alcoholic beverage. "A drink with my friend."


Amrothos pinched the bridge of his nose and sat up from his sofa seat with great difficulty. Someone had been knocking on the door for the past minute.

Last night had not gone according to plan. What had started as an attempt to exchange woes and worries, had turned into a night of drinking. The two bottles had turned into three and four, of not just ale, but also wine and mead. There was no doubt that the King of Rohan knew how to drink and make merry. They had spent the entire time talking and laughing. There even was a wrestling match and an impromptu sparring with hearth pokers.

In his most vulnerable moment, Amrothos had shared his worries with his Rohirric friend, who had been more capable of handling his drink. As best as a man deep in his cups could, Amrothos had described all the ways that Lord Forgammon would negatively impact his sister's life.

Only once had Éomer spoken up. "You do not know, perhaps Lord Forgammon could give her all the happiness that the Princess deserves."

At this, the young Prince had laughed before adopting a very serious expression. "Do you know of a certain Steward Denethor?"

He had then related his comparison between his Aunt and his sister. Éomer had grunted his condolences and Amrothos had sunk down on the floor next to him, sloshing about his ale. "Forgammon is exactly how Denethor used to be. Lothíriel is willing to sacrifice her own happiness for the sake of duty. By Ulmo's balls, Éomer! If something happens to her because of that – that bastard..."

Amrothos had sobbed then, holding his head for a moment before emptying the flask of ale. He had intended to ask Éomer to reconsider his view on marriage, but he had fallen asleep moments after whimpering pathetically.

Hours later, he had woken up on the floor in the common room of the Rohirrim King, a pillow below his head and a blanket thrown across his body. With bleary eyes, he had looked around to see the King himself sleeping stretched out on the chaise longue wearing nothing but his breeches.

A sharp pain had then stung in his princely head and Amrothos had winced. With great difficulty, he had walked to the door and gotten the attention of a nearby guard.

"Get the two of us some kind of hangover cure. But be discreet, Prince Imrahil cannot find out about this."

He had settled on a sofa seat and promptly fallen back asleep, only to be woken a while later by incessant rapping at the door.

Éomer muttered something about opening it, before he turned around and continued to sleep.

Amrothos groaned and said loudly, too loud for his own sore ears:

"Come in, man! Good lord."

The door opened to reveal the Warden himself. Amrothos was very grateful to see him, holding a phial of a light green concoction.

"Blessed be, Warden, thank you for preparing the drink so quickly."

The old man grinned. "You are very fortunate that your sister and I had just finished preparing the hangover drink." Then he swiftly stepped inside the Rohirrim common room, only to have Lothíriel of Dol Amroth follow him suit while holding another phial in her hands.

The young woman fixed her brother with a glare.

Amrothos blanched at her appearance and sprang up from his chair. "Lothíriel?!"

Behind him, he heard a mutter, followed by a heavy thud and some cursing.

He turned around to see that the mighty King of Rohan had fallen off the chaise longue and was at present scrambling to his feet.

With a pink face and messy hair, Éomer stared at the young lady, stupified by her presence in his private rooms.

Lothíriel, too, seemed to be flabbergasted by the sight in front of her.

And why should she not be, thought Amrothos in mild amusement as he watched on, an awkward silence expanding between the four of them. Éomer had a terrific array of tattoos, scars and well-developed muscles that any woman would take pleasure in seeing.

In fact, Amrothos himself had taken the time to admire his friend's broad build during their drinking party last night.

Éomer, son of Éomund, was an attractive man and Lothíriel seemed to know it all too well.

Warden Bair cleared his throat, startling everyone into movement.

Éomer began looking around for his tunic, to cover up his upper body in the presence of a lady. Amrothos stepped closer to the Chief Healer, eyeing the phial in his hand with great interest. Lothíriel averted her gaze in an effort to maintain a bit of decorum, only to surreptitiously steal glances at Éomer with keen eyes and a red face.

It was at that moment, despite the nasty headache he was sporting, that Amrothos finally understood.

The reason for her indecisiveness concerning Forgammon, the reason why she had been given Théoden King's Herbarium, and the reason for her downcast expressions when she thought no one was aware. Amrothos could not believe he had been so blind to this before.

Lothíriel had feelings for Éomer.

Furthermore, the Warden himself seemed to be entirely aware of whatever was going on between Lothíriel and Éomer, because he met Amrothos with a slow and knowing smile.

That sly bastard!

The Chief Healer had brought her along on purpose, probably without informing her completely so that both parties would be caught off-guard. He had been boastful of the fact that he had facilitated the romance of Faramir and Éowyn, and he now fancied himself somewhat of a royal matchmaker. The Chief Healer of Minas Tirith moonlighting as a matchmaker it was as ridiculous as it was brilliant.

Meanwhile, Lothíriel had regained her composure and Éomer had managed to put on his tunic.

"Well met, Warden. And Princess Lothíriel." He approached the newcomers in a confident and kingly stride, hoping to compensate for his discomposure only moments earlier.

Both the Warden and the Princess inclined their head in acknowledgement.

Amrothos cleared his throat and took the phial from Warden. As he opened the little glass bottle and drank it, he continued to observe them. Éomer turned to Lothíriel and looked at what she was holding.

"Something for the hangover." She softly said and offered him the bottle.

Almost too eagerly the blonde man took the bottle and emptied it immediately, only to grimace at the taste. He coughed and looked back at Lothíriel, who had chosen to hide her face with her hand at that very moment.

"Again something –" Éomer muttered and then cut himself off before speaking in a more subdued manner. "Thank you for ah, for this."

"It is nothing, Your Majesty," replied Lothíriel in a tone that was cool and distant, and then she turned to look at her brother, "I shall not tell Ada about... This, but you should be back in your room before he discovers you are not there."

Before Amrothos could thank her, she curtsied and left the room. The Warden shared another look with him and left as well, closing the door behind him.

Éomer stood still near the door, staring at the spot where Lothíriel had been moments before.

"Éomer, are you quite alright? Did the drink make you unwell?" Amrothos patted him on the back, feeling mostly amused and slightly worried.

When he turned around to meet his gaze, Éomer gave his friend a smile. "Aye, it is nothing. I suppose it is best that you hurry along. Thank you for having a drink with me. I needed to unwind."

Amrothos really liked Éomer. He would be good to Lothíriel, if he ever allowed himself to accept her hand in marriage.

"Not at all. I unloaded all my troubles onto you, my kingly friend, but you were not able to share yours. I am so sorry about that."

"Perhaps some other time, I might need it more."

Amrothos nodded in understanding. It made sense that he did not wish to talk about the woman he admired with her very own brother.

Taking his leave, the Prince slowly began making his way back to the Dol Amrothian quarters, the crisp sunlight and early morning sounds doing a number on his senses.

Still, he was not unhappy with what he had learned.

He loved Lothíriel and he was glad that there was a chance at marital happiness for her. He just needed to give Éomer a few well-measured nudges to make it happen. What those nudges were, he did not know yet, but he would have to figure it out soon enough.


End of Amrothos' Interlude