The music swept through the hall, flutes, fiddles and drums. The sounds of the drums were deep, continuous and rousing while the flutes and fiddles ebbed and flowed, entreating the dancers to move on the music like the waves on the ocean. The musicians were currently playing a series of Dol Amrothian songs, at Lothíriel's request. It had been ages since she had had the opportunity to dance with her brothers to the music from her homeland, so she had taken advantage of her friendship with the Queen and put forth her request.
A bitter but mostly sweet feeling crept up on her as she spun from Elphir to Amrothos, missing the salty sea spray and the feel of sand beneath her bare feet. She longed to be back in Dol Amroth, already tired of all the emotional unease she had gone through the past few days. There was comfort in the presence of her brothers, though, and as she met Elphir's eye, he smiled indulgently before taking hold of her hand and spinning her around.
She was grateful for having lost no sibling or parent during the War. It was only Boromir's absence that she felt. But as she looked around the hall and took in the cheer and joy that was in the air, she knew that his wishes for Gondor had been fulfilled. It was for him and others like him, valiant warriors giving their lives for the sake of their beloved kin and country, that all of Merethrond was decorated from wall to wall. The banners of all fiefdoms were displayed behind the four unoccupied thrones on the dais. Grand arrangements of pale fragrant flowers were placed on silver pedestals throughout the Hall, their sweet scents adding to the high-spirited atmosphere, while the walls were carefully decorated with silver and white streamers, interspersed by large white marble candle holders.
It was a magnificent celebration of victory, one that would be talked about for years to come. A celebration just like what Boromir dreamt of in the quiet nights after turbulent days. Even if he was not present, the love for him in the hearts of the people of Minas Tirith encouraged them to feast and make merry, honouring the sacrifice of the many for the sake of all.
With another smile, she spun in place and curtsied deeply to Elphir as the final notes of the song were played out. There was only gladness in her heart at this moment, as she had succeeded in putting aside all her worries aside to focus instead on the here and now.
During the banquet held before the dancing started, Lothíriel had enjoyed her family's company, reconnecting and reflecting on the events of the past year. Prince Elphir had arrived mere hours ago, along with his son and his seven-month-pregnant wife. By morning Prince Elphir would resume his father's role in Minas Tirith, Siloril would spend her last two months under the watchful gaze of the Warden and Lothíriel would return to Dol Amroth to rule in her father's stead the day after tomorrow. Imrahil, Erchirion and Amrothos would leave for Osgiliath for two weeks to establish an understanding with former Captain Baranor. Thus it meant that this celebration would be the last time the Dol Amroth family would be together as one until the wedding of Faramir and Éowyn.
When the tables had been cleared after the banquet, Lothíriel had been the first to be on the dance floor, pulling along a reluctant Elphir.
"Do not deny your sister, Elphir, I have missed you dearly and soon I shall have to leave."
An uncharacteristically tender look had crossed his face and he had kissed his sister's hand before taking his place on the dance floor. Amrothos had appeared at his side, having convinced a young noblewoman to dance, while Erchirion had brought his betrothed along.
Aragorn, Arwen, and Éomer had taken their places on their thrones on the dais, wearing their finest, most regal ensembles. There they had been looking over the people celebrating, pleased to see such joy and merriment. Soon enough, the High King Elessar and Queen Arwen had joined the dance routines, smiles pulling at their lips as they took their turns. More than a few of their fellow dancers stared at them in awe, as the couple made a striking and beautiful vision, gliding across the floor like a pair of graceful swans navigating a serene lake. It was poetry in motion, their bodies and spirits harmonious in the celebration of their timeless love.
Lothíriel, too, stared at them as she twirled in place. She had been dancing without pause with all three of her brothers, Faramir, and then even with her father. It was a blessing to be able to dance with family, however, she longed to be regarded by someone who loved her for who she was and for whom she could blossom because of one man's tenderness for her. Quite like Arwen - truly one of the most beautiful creatures Lothíriel had ever seen - who seemed to emanate pure light when Aragorn was near, the Dol Amrothian Princess wished to be wholeheartedly desired as well. Not for her connections or her power, but for her thoughts and choices, for her secrets and her ambitions, for her flaws and her potential.
Never had she had this greed until she saw the young King of Rohan, openly and unashamedly crying with love for his country, his King and his family.
And she had coveted his affections ever since.
A lump formed in her throat and Lothíriel swallowed with difficulty, willing herself to feel less. It was a joyous occasion and there was no room for melancholy today. She was celebrating life now by dancing with her beloved father.
Imrahil took her hand in his and guided her into the concluding step of the dance. She met his grey eyes bravely with her own and offered him a smile, one that he was swift to answer with one of his own.
The music had ended then, but her father did not let go of her. "My dear, are you well?"
"Yes," replied she hastily, "Yes, Ada. I am well." Lothíriel now stole a look at the royal couple as they walked back to the dais hand-in-hand, and she sighed wistfully, basking in the radiance of their entwined souls.
But then a new tune set in, one that she recognized as Boromir's favourite and her mind strayed from the latent ache in her heart. Faramir approached her and extended a hand towards his cousin. "May I have this dance of you, dearest sister?"
As they assumed their positions side by side, they shared a knowing look and raised their hands as one. Song of the River Sons was the name of this music piece. It told the tale of three brothers stealing a boat and setting sail down the river to explore new lands. Remarkable about this dance was that its steps were inspired by the body movements required to steer a sailboat. There were high sweeping gestures akin to the motions to adjust the sails, the low brisk gestures reminiscent of one of manning the rudder, and swift leaning and balancing steps similar to the moves used for torque. It was a complicated dance that Boromir had learned from Imrahil when he visited Dol Amroth in his youth. It was in fact because of his Uncle that the famed eldest son of the Steward had earned his sea legs, adding yet another skill set to his wide range of abilities. The Song quickly became a favourite of Boromir, as it reminded him of his Dol Amrothian roots and the love he received from Imrahil and the maternal side of his family. Of course, Faramir had been quick to follow his brother's lead, but Boromir had been the first to master the sailing as well as the dancing, even before Elphir had had the chance.
Indeed now it was in remembrance of the Captain of Gondor that Lothíriel and Faramir danced, paying homage to their beloved brother and recalling one more time his cheerful laughter and expert footwork. Boromir would never again dance to the Song of the River Sons, and Faramir and his cousins would never again dance to it without hearing a sombre undertone.
The final music notes trilled out and Lothíriel bowed to her Cousin, a lump forming in her throat.
"There is none like him," she said to Faramir in a shaky voice, "none like Boromir."
There was a shimmer in his grey eyes, but he mustered a smile. "And how fortunate are we, that we were able to love him."
Lothíriel smiled too, but before she was able to speak another word, Erchirion came up to her and took hold of her hand.
"Thiri," he said, using his childhood nickname for her, "dance with me this easy one, so that I may retire."
Her second eldest brother was very agile both with words and weapons, but when it came to dancing; he practised little and disliked it greatly. Yet he had orders from Imrahil to keep his sister without want for dancing partners, so he chose the last and simplest Dol Amrothian tune to fulfil his duty.
"Eager to get back to Lady Minieth's side, are we?" teased his sister as she rested a hand on his shoulder and allowed him to guide her into a spin.
A lop-sided grin appeared on his face and he glanced at his fiancée, who was watching them from her seat, but he did not reply.
Half an hour later, Lothíriel finally begged leave, unwilling to be even a minute longer on the dance floor. She had danced with all her brothers and with Faramir and Imrahil twice each. Her feet were hurting, her dress was chafing at her skin and she was incredibly thirsty.
Picking up her skirts, she made her way to the nearest refreshment table. The table was laden with dainty foods and many kinds of wine and ale, but she was not in the mood for eating or imbibing. Was there not a single crock of water or juice? She searched the table fruitlessly before sinking down at a bench nearby to cool down while watching the crowds dance.
It would not do, she reminded herself, to wallow in self-pity. Dancing was one of the activities she enjoyed the most and she had been doing so well, dance after dance, focusing only on the here and now. Yet the stinging weight in the pit of her stomach was becoming heavy again, adding to the soreness of her muscles and the weight of her silver and white gown.
Hungover no more, Amrothos had brought it to her that afternoon and he had insisted that she wear it to the Remembrance Feast that evening. It had been a dress of her mother's that he had had adjusted for her size and height. It was truly a bewitching gown fit for a Swan Princess of Dol Amroth. Similar to the feathers of a cygnet in winter, the white glittering fabric gradually turned grey, and the edges of the skirts of her dress were a dark silver that shimmered in movement. More appropriate for a Dol Amrothian spring, it had no sleeves and the boat-cut neckline was wide and modest. It had been one of her mother's preferred party dresses, so Lothíriel had acquiesced if only to see the brilliant smile on her brother's face.
As the seams of the fabric chafed at her skin and the weight of the skirts bore heavily down on her body, she regretted her choice now. She adjusted her dress in a vain attempt to lessen her discomfort. The lightweight blue gown that she had planned for today would have been a more practical choice after all, even if it did not flatter her figure and skin as much as this one did.
The music swelled up again and Lothíriel gazed at the dancers, their happy, flushed faces, sweeping steps and colourful outfits slowly dispelling the shadow that had crept onto her heart.
After mere minutes of people-watching and absently picking at the pearls stitched onto her dress, her view was blocked and she sat up.
A long-stemmed glass appeared in front of her and Lothíriel followed the length of the arm to see who was offering it to her.
It was none other than Éomer, dressed formidably in maroon, gold and silver. His beard was neatly trimmed and his hair had braids on which his crown rested. His gaze was warm and eager, and she looked down immediately as heat gathered in her cheeks.
It had been a while since she had thought about him, a whole hour. She had not expected him to approach her, but it seemed that he had found her quite purposefully. What that purpose was, however... She would not dwell on it.
He sat down next to her, gently took her hand in his broad one and pressed the glass in it.
"You should drink this." His deep voice was easily heard despite the din of the celebrations.
Lothíriel wanted to protest, but she was thirsty and the chilled lemonade drink was exactly what she required. She emptied the glass in one movement, not bothering to mind her etiquette.
She stood up and placed the glass on the table behind them before looking at him as coolly as she could.
"Thank you for the refreshment, Your Majesty."
She was halfway a curtsey when he spoke.
"You look lovely, Princess."
His plain-spoken compliment made her breath catch in her throat. Still sitting on the bench, he was just in her line of sight. His hazel-green eyes were full of sincerity and wistfulness, causing the spiky mass in her abdomen to twist and turn arduously.
What was she to do?
Leaving still seemed to be a good idea. Lothíriel inclined her head in acknowledgement and then turned to leave, her heart thudding in her ears.
"Lothíriel, wait! Lothíriel."
She looked back over her shoulder at him, still in disbelief at how informally he dared to address her in such a crowded place. He had stood up and a hand was extended halfway in her direction, a frown at his brow and his jaw set in fresh determination.
Her heart gave a painful squeeze at his pleading expression, reminding her how it desperately ached for a love unanswered.
So she pressed her lips and shook her head before picking up her skirts and attempting to disappear into the dancing crowd.
It was a vain effort. He was tall enough to keep watching her even from the edge of the dance floor. Heat coursed under her skin, while her heart smarted painfully, an easy victim to his sweet words and longing gaze.
A small part of her relished in the fact that Éomer missed her. Indeed, he was becoming bolder in seeking her out. Yet her sensible mind protested against that cheap sliver of happiness. Whatever he felt for her, admiration or lust, it was not strong enough for him to seek her hand in marriage.
And this kind of half-hearted attachment was simply cruel.
Lothíriel wiped at her eyes and then wryly laughed at herself. Crying on the dance floor, what a foolish girl she was!
A humourless laugh escaped her mouth, only barely heard by herself, because the music was loud and the people were loud and loudest still was the upset thudding of her heart.
How she wished to be unburdened from him. She had not imagined herself to fall in love with anyone, because she had been told that she would not have that luxury as a Princess of Dol Amroth. Thus, the only thing that she had hoped for herself was to marry a decent man, someone easy to kiss, one whom she would be able to learn to love in due time, just like Elphir, her parents and others like them had.
Yet here she was, hiding herself away from the man who had fixed himself so firmly inside her heart, despite not allowing her an inch of space in his.
A new tune started and some of the dancers rejoiced, for it was a favourite of many. She was fond of it too, but at this moment she wished to be anywhere but here. The music was loud and the people were loud and loudest still was the upset thudding of her heart. Dancers began to swirl around her, blind to everything except their own amusement. She was very much in their way; however, she stood rooted to the spot, her dress and her elaborate hair weighing her down along with her self-deprecating musings.
Soon enough, one such dance enthusiast bumped into her, and Lothíriel was torn from her thoughts as she sought to regain her balance. Out of nowhere, a hand rested on her waist and she heard a familiar voice ask: "Milady, are you alright?"
It was Lord Forgammon and he was looking at her with both interest and impatience. Without waiting for an answer, he took her hand and placed it on his shoulder meaningfully.
"If only one dance is what I am allowed, milady, then I must have it now."
Lothíriel breathed in and out deeply, wiped once more at her eyes and pasted a smile on her face. It seemed that her distress had not been visible to him, so eager was he to claim her hand. "Let us dance then, milord."
They stood opposite one another joined hands and spun on the rhythm of the music. He was dressed in silver and black with slightly more embellishment than he preferred. His hair and beard were neat and his brown eyes never left Lothíriel's face, except for the turns in their dance.
Had she not known Forgammon for a decade, she would have readily accepted his suit. But even as he smiled, even as his eyes gleamed with apparent desire and admiration for her, her perturbed mind sent her recollections of his scowls, jabs and sneers directed at her and her brothers.
And that is what it always did, regardless of how hard she tried to focus on their pleasant enough courtship.
Anything other than acceptance is refusal.
The Warden's words sprang to the forefront of her consciousness and finally, she understood herself.
She stopped their dancing, but she did not relinquish her hold on his broad, dusky hand.
"Lord Forgammon, we need to talk."
Seeing her serious expression, he immediately led her out of Merethrond and into the courtyard where the White Tree sapling flowered. From the corner of her eye, she saw Amrothos follow them suit and she signalled him to keep his distance.
Begrudgingly, he lingered out of earshot near the doors of the Feasting Hall, but his eyes never left the form of his sister.
The man offered Lothíriel a seat at the stone bench near the flowering sapling, but she refused.
"Lord Forgammon, I shall be frank and to the point with you, as has been my habit."
"I appreciate that, milady." He stood at a respectable distance and his eyes were void of any emotion.
"Milord, I cannot accept your suit."
"I see." He was not surprised.
"The past three months, I have attempted to see you in the light of a spouse, a lifelong friend, and a liege. Yet the past has been ever fixed in the back of my mind and I..." She paused to take a deep breath, aware of the impact of her words. "Milord, in vain I have tried. Yet I cannot reconcile the man who enjoyed scolding me with the man who is to be my husband."
Lord Forgammon nodded and looked down. "You did mention very early into the courtship that it was one of the things holding you back from giving a prompt answer."
"Aye, so I did. And I have done my best to overcome this bias, but I cannot help but think that once the novelty of our marriage wears off, we will fall into patterns of old." The young woman shifted in place, her head still raised and her shoulders squared, hoping to the man an impression of unwavering self-confidence.
"In my defence," said Lord Forgammon after a moment of silence, "I see you very differently from the girl you used to be. I do not feel the urge nor see the need to speak to you like I did then."
Lothíriel smiled wistfully at him and pushed an errant lock of hair behind her ear. "I will always be that little girl, milord. I am just better at hiding her."
They held each other's gaze, studying one another. Lothíriel's expression was calm and unworried. Lord Forgammon, on the other hand, seemed dejected and a touch sorrowful. He may have been a politician and a ruler with sharp wit and even more knife-edged tongue, her outright rejection of him had stung him.
"Is our past the only reason that you see no future?" he asked in an unnaturally even tone." Is there perhaps... another suitor?"
It was quintessential of him to be so direct, and she had finally gotten used to his barbs because of their time spent together. "The past is reason enough, milord. However, there is no other suitor besides you."
"The King of the Riddermark."
That did catch her off-guard, and she struggled momentarily to contain her shock. "What of him, milord?"
"Your father Prince Imrahil had spoken of his interest in him for your sake." He looked at her, his eyes slightly squinted, hoping to discern the meaning behind her stiffened shoulders. "I have noticed him watching us, looking... Most unhappy."
Unfortunately for her, she was not able to control the flush that crept up her cheeks. She could only hope that the relative darkness in the courtyard could conceal it.
"Lord Forgammon," she replied with a voice not unlike her father's when he was indignant, "I do not see how you need to concern yourself with him or any other potential suitor."
But he was not fooled, and he laughed, a soft scoffing noise. "Forgive me. It is merely that I was thinking out loud, milady. You see, I..." He rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "If you choose to marry him - a King, then I would look less of a fool in the wake of our failed courtship."
Lothíriel stared at him, temporarily at a loss of words. Even now this man was only concerned for his image. But at least he was frank about it, as he always had been with her.
"Then you will be sorry to hear, Lord Forgammon," She said, after deciding to share a snippet of bald truth with him, "that Éomer King has refused my hand in marriage, not once but twice."
That did take him by surprise. Lothíriel took a moment to wryly enjoy his disconcerting like she had always done.
"Is that so?" He fell quiet, staring at the ground, deep in thought. Then he met her gaze once more and said: "If that is true, then he is a bigger fool than I thought."
For a moment, Lothíriel did not know if she wanted to be angry at Éomer's behest or if she wanted to cry at her own behest.
So she laughed.
Forgammon was right.
Éomer Éomundson was a fool for how he had behaved with her.
It had taken her a long time, but she could finally see what her father appreciated in Lord Forgammon. He was brutally honest, regardless of rank or station and his sharp words held the power to cut through any mist of emotions. Without a doubt, he was a politician that you would want with you rather than against you.
"Milord, I thank you for speaking with me so candidly." She allowed herself a small smile at him. "I feel that I have learned a lot from you and I hope you will not think ill of me when our paths cross again."
With a frown, he stared at her before releasing an uncharacteristically deep sigh. "Princess Lothíriel, friendly acquaintanceship is a meagre alternative to having you as my wife... But I accept it nonetheless, for I hope I can have your support in laying the groundwork for herb medicine sourced from Lossarnach."
The formidable man, never upset enough to not talk business.
"You did not need to marry me for the support of Dol Amroth, you already have it."
Lord Forgammon shook his head. "Come, stay honest. I shall not have your support if I do not ask for it explicitly right now. I do quite recall the countless times that you fled my presence or had your brothers intervene."
"Yes, you are right to think that!"
What a profound moment it was! Laughing in unison with Forgammon was the last thing she had imagined to happen after refusing his suit. Yet their chuckles filled the otherwise silent courtyard, causing Amrothos to glare at them.
"Shall we return to the festivities, milord?"
As a reply, he offered her his arm, and she gladly took it.
"I suppose we should inform our families that the courtship is over." She murmured as they approached where her brother stood.
"Aye, my sons would be glad to hear it."
"I beg your pardon?"The future of his children had been the lord's main driving force behind his pursuit of her.
"Aye, they are very much opposed to becoming Swan Knights. They prefer their studies to a future in knighthood."
Their gazes met again and they laughed once more in unison. Amrothos demanded to know what had amused them, but she waved him off, passing him by and back into the Feasting Hall.
"Shall we finish our dance?" suggested Lothíriel, suddenly feeling feather-light and quite energetic. "As a celebration of our newly forged ah... What was it, friendly acquaintanceship?"
"Indeed."
They walked to the dance floor and smoothly integrated themselves into the dancing line.
Lord Forgammon was an excellent dancer because his lead allowed her to be distracted by her thoughts. The relief of ending the courtship was immense. She felt like a weight was lifted from her chest and that the lights and colours of the world that had been dimmed before were now bright once more. Eventually, the final chords sounded and the dancers clapped in appreciation of the musicians, who bowed and stepped away for a short break.
Lord Forgammon took Lothíriel's hand and kissed it very gallantly. After a bow, he took his leave and disappeared into the crowd.
Not a moment later, did Amrothos appear and no doubt he had questions, ones that she had no choice but to answer.
"Lothíriel, what news have you?" He held her by her shoulders and looked at her insistently.
With a sigh, she gently released his hands from her shoulders, leaned forward and whispered. "I am not leaving your side yet, Amrothos. The courtship has ended."
As she moved away from him, she took note of his shock. "Truly?"
"Let us not tell others, or other men might insist on a dance with me," Lothíriel whispered conspiringly. "Tonight I only want to dance with my Princes."
To her surprise, Amrothos did not look happy. "What is it, dear brother?"
"I... I am sorry for making matters difficult for you." He spoke with a crack in his voice.
With a small smile, she rested a hand on his cheek and beheld him. He was her best friend and her partner in all her escapades and rule-breaking. He had been right about Lord Forgammon, but she appreciated that he had given her enough space to end the courtship on her own terms.
"I love you, Amrothos." She pressed a kiss on his brow and pulled him along to the refreshment tables. "Come, there must be wine with our name on it."
"Oh, I do not know if I should have another drink," protested he, though quite half-hearted, "I had quite a few ales already."
"One wine and then one dance, for the sake of your sister! We should celebrate."
She picked out a glass of red wine and took a sip, relishing the taste. Amrothos followed suit and they stood in amiable silence, watching people come up and refresh themselves, waiting for the music to start again.
It did not take her long to find Éomer King in the throng of people. He stood with a few other men, having a lively discussion. Newly unburdened from her suitor, Lothíriel took a moment to admire him from this safe distance. He was the most attractive man in Merethrond, she thought as she took another sip, and the only bachelor present not interested in marrying her. And she wondered if that said more about her than it did about him.
The first notes of the next dance music piece began and she turned to her brother to get his attention. He was already looking at her, with a strange look in his eyes.
It was unsettling.
"Let us dance to the music of the Rohirrim!" Lothíriel hastily said, a blush creeping up her cheeks. And she pulled her brother to the dancing area, joining a group of three people. The energetic tunes made the siblings forget about their worries and instead devote their attention to the easy yet rapid steps.
They clapped, spun and leapt to the beat, meeting one another's eye with broad smiles. The Dol Amroth family members all had mastered the dances from Rohan, much to the pleasure of Faramir, who was crossing off the days on his proverbial calendar.
The song smoothly changed into a slow but cheerful one and some dancers left the floor while a few joined.
"Éomer King, join us!" Amrothos exclaimed and she stared at him wide-eyed.
The King of Rohan was known for his propensity to avoid dancing at celebrations, claiming that he did more than enough of his share of coordinated movements on the battlefield. No one ever begrudged him for that, so he was left alone well enough.
So when Éomer appeared alongside Amrothos, coming to stand opposite Lothíriel, she had trouble believing her eyes.
"I was unaware that Rohirrim dances were popular at Gondorian court, milady." Éomer directed the remark at her and she had to scramble to form a coherent reply, taken aback by his sudden appearance.
"In honour of Lady Éowyn's wedding," she managed to say with difficulty, and she moved her arms to the music." Queen Arwen ensured it, Your Majesty."
"How considerate of her." His eyes did not waver from her face.
"It was Lothíriel's idea, actually," Amrothos spoke up, grinning as he took a measured step to the beat.
Panic began to rise from the pit of her stomach, and she cursed herself for having an entire glass of wine when she was so intolerant of it. Now she had trouble managing both her dance moves and her feelings.
Especially now that Éomer was looking at her so closely. "And I am grateful for it, Princess Lothíriel."
Flustered, she missed a step, adding to her mortification.
Amrothos was in a talkative mood, however. "Yes, if you must know - Lothíriel has quite familiarized herself with your culture -"
His sister attempted to catch his eye, but he was adamant in keeping his eyes fixed on his friend instead.
"Do you know that she can converse in Rohanese as well?"
Another misstep.
"My sister has a natural affinity for learning -"
What was Amrothos doing?
" - and quite adaptive to new environments as well -"
As he moved further away from her, she could no longer understand what he was saying to Éomer. In her frustration, she missed another cue.
The blonde man was listening quite attentively and when he took a few steps back to her, he looked at her eagerly.
Then the music picked up, drowning out Amrothos' voice and she sighed in gratitude. Now she could focus on her dance steps instead.
But she did not, because her eyes kept straying to the rare presence beside her.
Gracefully Éomer moved to the music of his people, his tall figure unexpectedly elegant and fluid in its movements. He raised his hand and touched palms with the Princess as they turned - a small current coursing through her body every time that they touched - and she heard him say her name under his breath.
"Lothíriel."
They moved away from each other, only to press their palms together again, and once more he spoke to her.
"Lothíriel, I wish to speak to you. Privately."
Three steps apart, another turn with the other dancers and once again their palms touched.
Her stomach flopped at the words and their implication, and she had to take deep breaths to calm her rioting heart.
Yes, she wanted to say.
"No." She replied, a touch desperate. Already it was hard to refuse him, but in this setting, he was nigh irresistible.
"Why not?" Éomer missed his turn to spin in place.
"I cannot."
Another meeting of hands. Lothíriel saw that he was displeased from his flared nostrils and clenched teeth. Her heart continued its riot against her mind.
Her eyes snapped to Amrothos, hoping for a distraction, but he was not paying them any heed as he was quite happy to dance with the young lady beside him.
The music played faster, nearing the end, and Lothíriel spun in place before taking three steps further away from Éomer. His eyes never strayed from her and a heat smouldered in them now, obviously displeased.
She took the three steps back to him and pressed her palm very lightly against his broad and calloused one. His fingers deftly caught her wrist and he forced her to look at him.
"Please, Lothíriel! You must." His eyes narrowed with unhappiness and longing, causing her breath to hitch in her throat.
Oh, it was too dangerous. She could not bear another rejection.
As the last of the notes were played out, she forcibly released her hand from him and spun out of his reach. Without looking back, she left both her brother and the King of Rohan behind on the dance floor.
The dance floor was a perilous place. She would not step a single foot on it again, tonight. The only one she could dance with had been Amrothos, but he had betrayed her most unkindly.
No more dancing. Instead, she sat with Siloril, drinking wine and discussing with her the arrangements of the Feast of Remembrance, praising the food, the decorations, the music and the lively people. Granted, it was mostly Siloril talking and Lothíriel agreeing with her half-heartedly, but at least the Princess was in no fear of being enticed into being alone with a tall, blonde King of the North. Even if her eyes kept searching for him, fruitlessly.
After a little while, Elphir and Alphros appeared, the latter asleep on his father's shoulder, and the former suggested to his wife that the three of them retire for the night.
Lothíriel helped Siloril to her feet, who kissed her cheek in thanks. With a small smile, she watched her eldest brother and his family leave Merethrond.
She then sought out Erchirion, but she could not see him or Lady Minieth anywhere. Prince Imrahil was sitting with Faramir, Aragorn and Arwen, having a discussion that, given their frequent laughs, was amusing and pleasant. Amrothos was dancing with a pretty noblewoman, a different one than before, and if Lothíriel saw correctly, two more young women were lingering near, hoping for a turn with the cheerful and handsome prince from Dol Amroth.
She was alone with her thoughts and those kept turning to her last dance partner, Éomer King. The audacity of that man, insisting on being alone with her. The idea itself was hazardous and incredibly enticing to her.
She put her wine goblet down. How much had she had already? For a moment she felt sympathy for Erchirion. Once she had a glass, it was all too easy to have a second, and then even a third.
It was better to leave.
Her feet hurt and her dress chafed. The weight of her pinned-up hair made her neck ache. The din of the crowd and the music had begun to hurt her ears. She was ready to retire. Gathering her skirts, she circumnavigated the dancing crowd to the dais where her father was. As good manners dictated, Lothíriel praised the organization of the Remembrance Feast and took her leave from the rulers.
As she left, Imrahil called out to her and took her aside. "My dear daughter, Amrothos told me that you have refused Forgammon's suit."
"Aye, Ada. Even after all this time, I could not see a happy future with him."
Imrahil nodded in understanding. "Given your history, I knew the chances of success were slim, but I appreciate that you considered him earnestly."
"Then you will be pleased to hear that we have agreed to become friendly acquaintances." Despite her fatigue, a playful grin appeared on her face as she spoke.
He stared at her for a moment, before giving a short and melodious laugh of amusement.
"Pleased, indeed!" He kissed her brow. "I am glad you have managed to learn how to appreciate him. He is an asset to Dol Amroth."
Then he glanced over her shoulder and frowned. "Listen, I have to go check on someone. I shall see you tomorrow morning, my dear."
After a gentle embrace, he left her side in a hurry. Only slightly confused by his sudden shift in mood, she made her way out of the Hall and into the courtyard. The night was quiet and the ruckus of Merethond was greatly reduced outside its doors.
A chilling breeze blew past the damp and exposed skin of her arms and neck, causing her to shiver uncontrollably.
Down the courtyard she went, past the hallway towards the kitchens next to Merethrond, making her way towards the Southern Guesthouses of which the entrance was directly opposite the Tower of Ecthelion.
"Lothíriel!"
She knew that voice too well—the baritone, the accent, and - oh, the passion. An unbidden thrill went down her spine at hearing it so clearly in the quiet.
"Lothíriel, I beg you. Wait!"
Her legs halted their movement, but she did not turn around.
She did not have to, because a second later, Éomer stood before her, breathing heavily. The distant lights of Merethrond illuminated his face and she could see he was still upset.
He was so beautiful, she thought absently. Even when he was frowning. No, especially when he was frowning.
Once again he had put himself in her path, but this time she was simply too tired and too drunk to maintain her poise and her distance.
She considered her next move as she studied his features, even as his body heated the cool air on her skin.
His warmth was pleasant.
He was standing so close to her, so close that she barely had to reach out to touch him.
Should she run? She wondered.
Should she be angry with him?
Or - came the maddening thought as she admired his parted lips - should she kiss him instead?
