Chapter 3
Lothíriel's mood was thoughtful as she prepared for bed that night. She thought of the events of today, and particularly one person; she had a dreadful feeling that she had made a fool of herself in the eyes of King Éomer. Her cheeks still felt hot when she thought of their meeting in the stairs, her clumsiness, and how she had stammered stupidly about Faramir. Just what had that been? King Éomer knew perfectly well who her cousin was, there was no need to clarify. He must think she was a simpleton.
But even in her embarrassment, she had been surprised to meet him so – he was in shirtsleeves and the warm, strong smell of the stables was about him. He had clearly been up and about for some time already and gone to see the horses. Yet perhaps she shouldn't be surprised at all: he was the king of the horse-lords, and his people prized their animals above all things. Either way, it didn't reflect badly on him, at least not in her eyes. Her father had always said that kindness and care for the beasts of the earth was never a bad quality in a man.
She saw him again at breakfast, for which he had cleaned up very nicely; the green of his tunic complimented his shining golden hair and there was a lively glimmer in his eyes when he spoke with his friends. Other guests spoke to him eagerly, vying for his attention, as though he was the sun to which all goodly creatures looked for warmth and life. She even saw him smile, and knew at once it must have made him popular in Minas Tirith. There was, indeed, an unusual charm about this young king.
But after the meal, it wasn't until dinner that they were in the same chamber again. Still a bit worried over what kind of an impression she had made on him, Lothíriel tried to discreetly study the young lord of Rohan, seated diagonally from her at the other side of the table. Some noble ladies had shared horror stories about Rohirrim and their appalling lack of table manners, but King Éomer managed no worse than King Elessar next to him, and big though his hands were, they seemed to wield delicate tableware with great sophistication. But suddenly he looked up straight at her, piercing her where she sat, and she quickly turned her gaze. She could still feel his eyes on her, and often did again as that evening progressed, though she didn't dare to meet them again. Not a single word was exchanged between them. There was a question in those eyes that she was afraid to translate into words.
The man intrigued her, she had to admit it. He was so different compared to other men she knew, bold and straightforward and unexpectedly charming in a rugged way that was foreign to her but still clearly quite natural for him. At times she had wondered why her brothers would spend so much time praising this horse-lord, but now she had some inkling. However, she had not quite the easy access to his society as was available to warriors who had fought together, and so she was left studying the young king from afar – wondering about him and his people, and feeling again quite like an outsider. No doubt her lady friends back in Dol Amroth would tease her mercilessly about her blatant interest in this unmarried and highly eligible war-hero who was pursued by many; she was glad they were not here to witness it, because she did not think any of them would believe her if she tried to explain it was entirely innocent.
Comfortable with her reasoning, she slipped into a quiet sleep and had no dreams until the morning came.
This time at breakfast, she kept her eyes carefully away from the horse-lord, but apparently she had already caught his attention by her staring yesterday; a couple of times, she could feel his eyes on her. Was it just curiosity, or something else? Who knew what her brothers, Amrothos especially, had told him about her? Her brother could be so careless without meaning it, and he might very well have painted her as some childish fool, far beneath the notice of the mighty. In the end, it didn't make sense for him to be curious about her. If the women of Rohan were at all like Lady Éowyn, she couldn't possibly understand what he could want with some silly, spoiled lady of the south.
These thoughts rather occupied her to the point where she nearly startled when Lady Éowyn spoke to her, wondering if she would like to join her for a walk by the river. Grateful for the offer, she quickly agreed, and not only because she was eager to see more of Ithilien. Even with her famous deeds, Lothíriel was finding Lady of the Shield-arm much less unnerving and perplexing than her impossibly keen-eyed brother.
Father made a bit of a fuss of course, insisting they be careful, and wondering if they shouldn't take some Swan Knights along. But Lady Éowyn responded firmly, reassuring him they would be quite safe with Rangers escorting them. At any rate, they would stay close to the river, and even if the occasional orc prowled the woods, they tended to stay away from Anduin (unless they intended to go marauding on the western side, but they never crossed it at this particular point of the stream). These parts of Emyn Arnen were heavily patrolled, so coming across even a footprint of an orc was extremely unlikely. Eventually, Father relented, although he still cast some concerned looks at them, and especially his daughter.
She knew he meant well, but Lothíriel couldn't help the blush of embarrassment that grew on her cheeks. How sheltered she must seem to Lady Éowyn, who had gone through fire and death with nothing but her shield and sword to guard her life! It was terribly awkward to think this woman might think of her as little more than a helpless child.
But Lady Éowyn smiled, and linked her arm with Lothíriel's, as if they were old friends. She said, "I do adore your lord father, but I must say he can be a terrible fuss. Then again, perhaps I might be in his position, too. Men can be a little funny about their daughters, especially if she is the only one."
Her words, warmly spoken, immediately helped Lothíriel to relax. Her embarrassment subsided.
"Very much so. Any time I take one step outside the city walls, he goes into palpitations. You would think the war was still going on, or that there are bands of brigands lying in wait in every other bush from here to Dol Amroth, hoping to carry me off", she said, shaking her head.
Éowyn snorted softly.
"Of course. I suppose I ought to say it is only because you are precious to him, which certainly must be true, but I imagine you are quite weary of hearing that excuse. Well, we shall show him that we are rather capable of surviving a simple walk without any accidents", she said as they walked out of the gates of the manor house, walking slowly towards the river. She let out a sigh, and then continued in a more serious tone, "Though I must admit I envy you, a little bit. My own father died a long time ago, and I was so young at the time that I don't have many memories left of him. Uncle Théoden was a good and gentle foster-father who loved us as his own, but he was often quite busy, and especially in the late years he drifted away from us."
"I am sad to hear it. You must miss them terribly", said Lothíriel. She could understand some of her companion's sadness; her own mother had died when she was young.
"Indeed I do. You never really stop missing somebody who has gone", Éowyn replied, but then she seemed to shake herself, and directed a slight smile at the younger woman. "But enough of that. This morning is much too beautiful to be spent in morose conversations. I'd rather like to get to know my new cousin better. By the way, feel free to call me just Éowyn. The rest of your family does."
"It would be my pleasure", Lothíriel said, smiling back at the tall, blonde woman. "You have a beautiful home here, though I imagine it must be very different from Rohan."
"Oh, it is. But Faramir has been ingenious in rebuilding the manor house. He brought many craftsmen from Rohan to help with the work, but you know that already. I simply love it, the way he has blended both our heritages and created something new – a place where we may recall the past and look ahead. No one could have done it better", Éowyn said, beaming brightly. She seemed so proud of her husband that one might think no man had ever done so good a thing. It was heartening, especially knowing Faramir's own struggles and griefs. Everyone had said so before, but now she saw it too: how well this lady of the North and her cousin were matched, and what comfort and understanding they must find in each other.
Lothíriel couldn't help it: she too felt a little envious. Her life had been as gentle and sheltered as one might imagine, but still, she desired a connection like this, too – finding the person who understood her as she was, and whose companionship was both the anchor and the guiding star. One did not need to live an unhappy life to still feel the desire to be understood and accepted. But as she saw it, such bonds were not common among nobles, at least in Gondor. In Rohan it might be different – although if it were, then how would Éowyn be here now?
"I do love seeing details and things that come from your homeland. It would be marvellous to visit there one day. My brothers shared many tales after attending your wedding, of course, but I doubt they could do it justice", Lothíriel said wistfully, once again regretting that she had not been able to join the rest of her family for Éowyn and Faramir's wedding.
"I would be glad to tell you more, if you'd like", Éowyn offered, and she did not need to suggest it twice.
So they walked side by side next to the river, which flowed gently towards the sea. The day was a fair one, and sunlight softly filtered through branches of trees. The air smelled mild and fragrant, and even though Lothíriel was fascinated with Éowyn's tales, she still felt at the back of her head an urge to go exploring the sunlit woods. Here it was hard to believe this place could be dangerous in any way. Yet it could not be forgotten, thanks to the Rangers following them and keeping watch.
Éowyn was a wonderful storyteller, and quickly enough Lothíriel was fully immersed in her tales of the far northern land of the horse-lords. She almost felt like she could hear the distant thunder of many galloping hooves, and the wind in the long grass, bright horses that were swift and strong, and the clear voices singing; a shiver ran down her spine when she thought of her brothers describing the sound of terrible war-songs which had carried even to the city during the great battle. None that had heard it could forget the sound. The thought was alien but also strangely intriguing. She wondered what it must feel like for the warriors themselves – if the songs put them under some kind of a frenzied spell. For their opponents, it must be terrifying. Visions came to her of tall riders on great warhorses, little more than dark shapes against the smoke and chaos of the battlefield, singing in a strange tongue and making deadly music with spear and sword. No wonder Rohirrim had a fearsome reputation far and wide.
But Éowyn told her also gentler tales, of the foaling season in spring, the first plowing and blessing of the fields near Edoras which even the King participated, the joy of releasing the new foals and fillies to the fields for the first time, the songs of the household that accompanied everyday tasks of the hall, the great hearth-fire of Meduseld and dark nights of winter when Rohirrim sat together to sing and share stories of ages past, and the bright days of summer when the world was fair and mead was sweet. Something ancient echoed in her words when she spoke of that way of life, simpler in some ways than here in Gondor. It sounded like Rohirrim still remembered something about very old days of Mankind's youth which their friends in the South had long since forgotten.
Lothíriel listened, growing more and more enthralled with her new friend's stories. She almost wondered out loud how Éowyn could bear to leave such a place, but she kept the thought to herself. She didn't know enough about this woman to make such questions, and no matter how wonderful Rohan sounded like in stories, it was probably not the whole truth. There was more to life than songs and tales, and the hard edge of reality could be bitter. Even so, she desired to see the land of the horse-lords more than ever before.
They had already walked quite a bit, distracted by conversation, and eventually Éowyn suggested turning back. Now it was Lothíriel's turn to share stories of her home in Dol Amroth, and her new friend listened to her with just as much fascination, although none of these things seemed half as interesting to Lothíriel herself. Éowyn also wondered out loud if Faramir would agree to travel so soon after their marriage, as she dearly wished to visit the city by the sea before the year's end. Lothíriel hid her smile, thinking her cousin would probably consent to anything his wife proposed.
So they walked back, now engaged in a lively conversation about the differences between their lands and cultures. Laughter rang between them often, and beneath it streamed a sense of fresh friendship. Perhaps it might become more, Lothiriel considered – perhaps here at last was the sister she had long imagined in her most secret thoughts. And why wouldn't Éowyn share the sentiment? It wasn't like she had many close friends in Gondor yet, except maybe for Queen Arwen. Considering their families, it was only natural that an understanding might bloom right here.
It was the heavy clash of metal that startled her from the pleasant conversation with Éowyn. They had now got near the gates of the manor house, and approaching that place they saw a company of men engaged in sword-fight just beyond the gates. Proper training grounds did not yet exist, so most often Rangers – and now guests, apparently – practised here before the gates, where there was plenty of open space.
Elphir had just finished a bout with Faramir, and instead of her cousin, King Éomer stood to face her brother. Both were in shirtsleeves and were exchanging light, humorous insults between themselves. They began with a few tentative strikes, blades kissing one another, before the full bout. Elphir was impatient, though, and quickly it became a proper duel.
It wasn't long before Lothíriel's eyes were drawn to the King of Rohan. She had heard her brothers complaining that practice swords were clumsy things, but it did not look so in this man's hand. He shifted and twirled it in his hand, the hilt left his grasp momentarily and was firmly back inside his fingers again – the blade looked like it was dancing.
Of her brothers, Elphir was the best swordsman, but he looked to be hard-pressed against his opponent. Yet when she looked at the King of Rohan and saw the relaxed look on his features, she understood he was not using the full breadth of his skill. He was merely teasing and taunting. His movements were easy and fluid, and momentarily it was almost as if his feet barely touched the ground. Father had said King Éomer was an exceptional swordsman, but it was now she understood what he had meant.
"Your brother is skilled", she said to Éowyn softly.
The blonde woman did not look at her.
"He had no other choice", she said simply, a hard edge to her tone, and Lothíriel knew not to speak more.
This seemed to have put the Lady of Ithilien in a darker sort of mood, and though she might have enjoyed watching the sparring for a little while more, Lothíriel tactfully suggested going back inside. So they continued moving, and the two fighters ceased their practice, inclining their heads as they passed by; from the corner of her eye, Lothíriel saw the King's keen eyes following them.
It occurred to her then how well he embodied those tales Éowyn had just told her – both the terrible and the fair.
In the entrance hall, a few frantic servants descended upon Éowyn; apparently, some kind of a crisis was happening in the kitchens and she was needed there immediately. She cast an apologetic look at her companion, but Lothíriel waved her hand, urging her to go on and deal with whatever was the issue. Éowyn gave her a thankful smile before she allowed herself to be whisked off by the servants.
With a few queries, Lothíriel learned that Queen Arwen was resting at the moment, and upon realising she was free for the moment, she decided to go back outside and enjoy the fair weather some more. Dutifully, she bid a couple of her father's knights to follow suit, even though she was not planning on going any further than the river.
The day had grown rather warm by the time she reached Anduin once more. The sun was high up in the sky and she felt a little hot in her gown, which was slightly too heavy for this weather. With longing, she thought of the sea and how good it would feel like to go for a swim, as she sometimes did at her family's private beach. An impulse came to her, and then she was taking off her slippers and stockings. She rolled up the hems of her skirt as far up as her shin, found a nice grassy spot, and swiftly sat down on the riverbank. The waters of Anduin were pleasant and mild, the mud on the bottom soft and cool. Before she knew it, a soft sigh escaped through her lips.
For a moment, she sat quietly, enjoying the calm moment: the water flowing against her skin, the gentle wind rustling in the trees, the sunlight upon her face. She pressed the palms of her hands against the ground and leaned back slightly. It felt like all stress left her body, sinking into the earth or washed away by the river. She thought of everything and nothing, of a far northern land and snow on mountaintops, and a mighty wind rushing through green valleys.
Lothíriel might have sank into some kind of a reverie, but she was shaken from it by the sudden voices of her guards and the sound of someone approaching. Turning her upper body, she glanced back to see what the disturbance was. Had her seating been any more precarious, she might have startled and tripped into the water, because there, not fifteen feet away, stood the King of Rohan.
Apparently, he had just come from sparring. He had rolled up his sleeves and left the collar half unlaced, exposing his throat and a bit of his upper chest. The practice sword was gone, but a real one was hanging from his belt – she caught the flash of a polished pommel and the guard which looked like a horse-head resting against the gleaming blade. She could only imagine the battles which that blade had seen.
"My lady", he greeted her, bowing his head, "are you planning on going swimming?"
His tone was so gentle and good-natured that she didn't feel at all ridiculous, as she might have.
"The thought crossed my mind, and I haven't even been sparring", she replied, smiling slightly.
"It seems tempting. But I suppose Éowyn would have things to say to me if I did, so I think I will just follow your example", he said, easy and confident, and immediately began to take off his heavy leather boots. Then, while she was still trying not to go into palpitations, he rolled up the legs of his trousers, took a few long strides, and came to stand next to her on the river bank.
He had muscled shins, and strong ankles, and his feet looked to be about twice as big as her own. Now that he was so close, she felt tiny in comparison. It could have been intimidating but what he did next, or maybe just the way he appeared, banished all such notions. He sat down, pushed his feet in the water and let out a soft, pleased sigh. His eyes closed as though involuntarily. She understood that even if he was a king, he enjoyed simple pleasures just as any man: a soft breeze on a summer's day and gentle flow of water against hot skin.
Since his eyes were still closed, she took the opportunity to study him a little closer. Her eyes made note of every line of his strong, proud features, thick eyelashes fluttering against sun-kissed skin, the neatly trimmed line of his beard, and the full mouth slightly curved in a smile. A strong neck connected that fair head into broad shoulders; their shape and lines could faintly be seen underneath the light shirt he wore. Here was a man come to the fullness of his strength and vigour. His long, golden hair was in a single thick braid that fell down his back; a few strands had escaped in the middle of sparring, but he had pushed them back behind his ear. She had never seen a man wear his hair in this way and it was hard not to stare even when he shifted and opened his eyes again.
"This is nice. The water is not as cold as I expected, though the river is great", he commented softly, gazing over the river with half-open eyes. The matter-of-fact familiarity of his tone was striking, but it didn't put her off. The effect was rather the opposite.
"You do not have rivers in Rohan?" she asked, watching him carefully from the corner of her eye.
"We do, but I hesitate to call them rivers, at least compared to Anduin. Our streams are small, and their waters come from the mountains. Snow-melt is often cold even in summer. One may use it for a wash, but rarely for pleasure", he explained.
"A wash, my lord?" she asked in surprise.
"Aye. Sometimes it's the only way to get clean when one is riding patrols. Although it's some time since I've had one of those, thankfully."
Heat rushed up her neck. She probably shouldn't be thinking of him having baths. period. Not to mention, it was a serious error on her part to have allowed the talk to get to baths already before the conversation had even started properly. But even as she thought of this, in her mind's eye she already saw those strong shins and well-shaped arms, and imagined other things, too – golden hair falling between shoulder blades, set in a broad and powerful back, the supple movement of long limbs wading into the river with the likeness of some great feline, and water's fluid play against tanned skin – and dearly wished that she could contrive some accident so that she could throw herself in the river and maybe drown to forever hide the embarrassment she felt just then.
Thankfully, he didn't seem to have noticed her sudden spasm, but continued to speak, "I must admit I often miss it. I saw more of the land than I do now, and a Marshal's work is much simpler than King's."
"Your lady sister shared some tales of your homeland. If Rohan is even half as beatiful as her tales would have it, then I can well understand why you would miss riding there frequently, my lord", she said, secretly pleased with how evenly the words came out, not betraying her flustered condition. "I would dearly wish to see it, too. It's a shame I couldn't join my family for my cousin and Lady Éowyn's wedding."
"Then why didn't you?" he asked her plainly and she could feel his keen stare fixed on her. A Gondorian man wouldn't have asked such a question – he'd have thought it tactless, and instead performed some quick platitudes to lament how his land languished in her absence.
"I wanted to, my lord, but my father had tasked me with ruling in his stead in Dol Amroth since he rode to war. Afterwards, he and Elphir spent much of last year in Minas Tirith, helping King Elessar to settle down and secure the eastern border. And when spring came and it was time for the wedding, we all agreed that I was already well adjusted to Father's duties, and you, my lord, and your sister were better acquainted with Elphir. My staying behind was the most sensible option", she explained. Somehow it felt silly to be telling him all this – she didn't see how it could interest him. But when she risked a glance at him, she saw him gazing at her with what looked like wonder.
"So you were left in charge of Dol Amroth, while your father and your brothers were fighting in the war? And you held the fort even when one of your brothers could have taken over?" he asked her incredulously.
"Well, Elphir is really the only one who could take over – Erchirion and Amrothos are quite capable in their own professions, but if I'm completely honest with you, I wouldn't leave Amrothos in charge of an outhouse, if you get my meaning", she said, and then blushed at her own straightforward and shameless comment. But King Éomer threw back his head and laughed out loud – a deep, rich sound that seemed to make her very bones vibrate. She felt like a part of his charm was this: now that she had heard it, she dearly wished to know how to make him laugh again just to hear that sound once more.
"Aye, I rather do", he said, his eyes glimmering like dark jewels, and his smile – oh, Elbereth, even sitting down, she felt a little dizzy. So she quickly looked away, because some instinct told her that being exposed to a smile like that could prove fatal.
"Even so", he continued then, a little more sombre, "it was very brave of you, my lady. Staying behind is often the hardest job. You see, my sister, she was... Théoden our uncle left her in charge when we rode to war, but she joined the Muster anyway. She rode in disguise, and I never knew she was there until I came across her lifeless body on the battlefield."
A violent shiver ran down her spine. What a horrible, horrible thing – thinking your only sister was safe and sound in your homeland, and then finding her apparently dead! She had never really thought about it, but now she understood why he had acted in what some said was destructive recklessness. Her throat felt tight when she thought of the anguish he must have gone through.
At this point, he gave her a hard stare, and said, "I do not blame her for anything. I understand now her pain and despair. Her mind was poisoned by that damned snake, Wormtongue, just as much as my uncle's was. That man helped to destroy almost all of my family. But I don't think myself innocent, either. If I had done more – if I had just noticed how deeply troubled she was..."
His voice trailed off, and he shook his head, as if to continue would be too painful. Gently, without thinking, she laid her hand on his. She wished to tell him he didn't need to explain himself to her. This man seemed to think he ought to carry the whole world's worries and sorrows on his back. Her brothers had told her enough of the troubles in Rohan, and how instrumental King Éomer had been in defending the land from both Isengard and Mordor. It was partly thanks to him that Rohan had resisted Saruman's attacks long enough to ride the storm, and send help to Gondor when the need was greatest. Even if he himself couldn't, she was easily able to forgive him for not seeing every little thing that was going awry.
"What I mean to say", he said after collecting himself again, "she made me realise many things. Like I said, staying behind is often the hardest job, and the most thankless. I do not know if I could do it myself. But I do admire how calmly you seem to have accepted that duty, my lady."
"We all must do our part", she said, a little bit embarrassed. "I know nothing of battle and am glad to stay far away from it. If that leaves me the job of holding the fort, then I shall do it the best I can. Father says that power and duty are but the two edges of the same sword, and one easily becomes unbalanced without the other. In a great house, it's everyone's job to hold up that balance, even if you can't fight."
She could feel him studying her closely.
"Would you always do what you perceived to be your duty? Even if it asked for painful sacrifices? Even if every bone in your body screamed against it?" he asked her in a low voice.
It was not the question you asked somebody you barely knew. Coming from anyone else, she would have felt offended. Yet in the course of this conversation, they had crossed what was usual and proper, and he had already exposed things about himself, so it seemed only fair to be perfectly honest.
"I... it's hard to say. I suppose it depends on the circumstances. I'd like to say that I would try to do my duty, but you can't know for sure. Not before you are face to face with your doom", she replied slowly, fidgeting her hands in her lap.
"Aye. Talking is easy. Doing is something else", he agreed, and she thought he could speak with some authority, because he had faced doom time and again, even the very gates of Mordor. Realising that, she felt like she was very unqualified to talk about this with him.
"Even so, I don't think my duty was particularly hard. Yes, there was the threat of the corsairs attacking Dol Amroth. But outside of that, my city is not close to the Black Land. We were fairly safe even during the darkest moments of the war. So you could say I am fortunate", she offered, but he gave her a strange, wry smile.
"It's easy to be wise or dismissive when one looks back. And time can be a funny thing. Sometimes, even the worst parts will seem less terrible than they actually were", he said, and she guessed he was again talking with the voice of experience.
He let out a sigh, and glanced at her, smiling a little.
"Enough of that. Today is too beautiful for such memories, and I'm being very unpleasant company", he said, shaking his head.
"It's quite all right. I meet enough noblemen who think I'm too young or delicate for serious conversation, so this is a pleasant change", she replied.
Once again he was studying her with that penetrating look, as if to examine her very thoughts.
"It's tough growing up the youngest, and the only daughter of the family, isn't it? So I learned from my sister. I never thought so before, but I had it so much easier than her", he said thoughtfully.
"I don't know. We all have our own burdens to bear, and even if mine may resemble hers in some ways, I don't think they are the same", said Lothíriel, gazing over Anduin to the other side of the river.
These were not easy questions, or lightest topics for conversation. But talking about it with him didn't feel difficult or unpleasant. He had a way about him that somehow enhanced one's own sincerity and straightforwardness, and she trusted him without being able to explain why; she just felt that she could say anything, even the most atrocious or the most painful thing, and he wouldn't betray her confidence. It was a curious feeling because she had never felt such a thing with anyone before, at least not so soon after she had first met them.
She now looked at him, and said, "It may be tough growing up the youngest. But I don't think it's any easier on the eldest. I know Amrothos and I got away with things that Elphir never would have. The expectations were always higher and harder on him, and nobody ever asked him if that was all right. Never considered if he felt like it was too much, or if it was very lonely to be the eldest or the responsible one."
Her tone had grown soft and slow, and at some point, she realised she wasn't just talking about her brother anymore. And the man next to her had lowered his eyes, and she could see such sadness and weariness upon him that it nearly broke her heart. Life had not been fair to this man: he had given all he had and more, and still his family kept leaving him. And even when they were gone, he was still left being the responsible one, the dutiful and the steadfast.
She wished to reach out to him and hold him tight, as if that could have helped anything.
"Are you ever angry?" she asked carefully, ready back up if he gave signs that she was overstepping.
"… sometimes. Often. Nobody has asked me that", he replied, sounding a little bit astonished even to be admitting this out loud. "Truth is, there have been times I was so mad at my sister. In some of the worst moments, I have even thought she was just looking for a way out and abandoned everything – including me – the first chance she got."
He frowned and gave her a hard look as he continued, "I know that's not fair or true, and I don't actually believe it. All I wish is her happiness and she richly deserves every joy in life. But it's… sometimes it's just hard, you see. And I'm only a man, after all."
She gave him a slight smile.
"That's all you have to be, my lord."
He considered her for a moment with a strange look, breathed out deeply as if he had been holding it back for a long time, but his tone was warm when he spoke.
"Your father said you are wiser than your years. He spoke truly", the King said, simple and frank, as if stating a matter of fact. It struck her deeply, because he didn't seem like a man who often lavished others in idle flattery.
"Thank you, Sire. That is kind of you to say."
Again that deep, piercing look.
"You misunderstand, my lady. I wasn't being kind", he told her firmly, and she couldn't help but stare at him with wide eyes.
Instantly, his features softened and a sheepish look came to his face. It made him look surprisingly endearing for someone so large and deadly.
"Do forgive me. Am I being too bold? Éowyn told me not to be too bold."
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She had heard many stories about this man, ranging from her family to starry-eyed errand boys who wanted to become Riders. But not one tale had mentioned he was a darling.
"It's fine. I must admit it's refreshing. It feels good to be taken seriously in a conversation. Like I told you, my age and situation don't necessarily encourage such discourse, at least not outside my family and kin", she answered warmly.
He returned her smile, and she felt like there was a rare understanding between them; it was not rare only because of their very different backgrounds and personal histories. Lothíriel had a feeling they might have sat there by the river for hours and hours just talking, but unfortunately it was not to be. A servant had been sent from the manor house to look for the King, and upon hearing this, it was as if some kind of a mask slipped back in place on his features. The earlier warmth and openness made way to what seemed to be his king's face, much more grave and stern and unsmiling. He got up and offered his hand to her, and what words were exchanged between them during their walk back to the manor house were quite formal compared to their earlier talk.
But she had seen behind the mask, and knew now that there was much more to King Éomer than any story had led her to believe.
It was not unusual that at some point during their gatherings, Imrahil's sons wanted to spar. All were enthusiastic about swordplay and were eager to try out their skills – which Éomer supposed made sense. Who didn't want to measure themselves against a legendary fighter such as Aragorn? Still, most often these events unfurled because Erchirion or Amrothos persuaded others to comply. Elphir was more reserved with his requests, though no less eager when the sparring started.
It was entertaining, though, and the fair weather invited one to spend some time outside anyway. Amrothos was talking in enthusiasm about tournaments, how long it was since there had been one in Mundburg, and throwing wistful glances at Aragorn. The King of Gondor and Arnor feigned ignorance, although the gleam in his eyes revealed to Éomer that his friend was everything but oblivious to Amrothos' hopes. He suspected this was not the first time Imrahil's son was goading Aragorn.
His own mind was not entirely in the sparring, although he performed well enough against Elphir and then Amrothos. While they were exchanging blows, he had time to notice his sister walking back with Lady Lothíriel, and both were smiling in a way that implied a new friendship was made. But the Amrothian maid soon came out of the manor house again, this time alone except for a couple of Swan Knights following her. She headed back towards the river, walking with a light grace that pleased his eye more than he would be willing to admit out loud.
He had been wanting to talk to her, and there she was, alone but for her guards. He wasn't going to get a better opportunity.
Even so, he stayed with his party a little while more so that his plan wouldn't become immediately clear to others. But after little less than ten minutes, he made excuses to leave the company for a brief walk to cool off and catch some fresh air. Imrahil's sons seemingly noticed nothing out of the ordinary, but Faramir raised an eyebrow, and just looking at Aragorn Éomer knew his friend was well aware of what he was doing. His fellow king's knowing smile was quite infuriating.
He kept his pace calm and even as long as he was in the eyesight of his friends, but a part of the road to the river went through a light wood; as soon as he had the cover of the trees, Éomer began to walk faster. He didn't think the lady had gone far off, but it was already many minutes since she had passed him.
He found her sooner than expected, sitting on the lush riverbank, her feet in the water. Something he couldn't name shifted in his breast at the sight of her lone figure and sunlight upon her raven hair. She seemed content and calm; being alone seemingly did not bother her. Was she used to it? Did it make her sad or frustrated? He was painfully aware of his sister's quiet, long, seething rage over always being left behind. Wormtongue had fed it and twisted it, just as that hateful man had fed all the worst things in the King's family. But the seed had always come from Éowyn herself until it spilled over and nearly took her to death.
Éomer could not say he knew Lady Lothíriel yet, but he didn't sense rage from her. He knew that sometimes, solitude could even be a friend. And not everyone was like Éowyn, although these two women had grown up in very similar circumstances. Perhaps that was why Éomer felt from the start that he may understand Imrahil's daughter better than any other Gondorian lady he had met so far. And that was probably also the reason for how boldly he approached her, taking a seat next to her on the riverbank.
He had meant to ask her innocent little questions about her life, but the conversation quickly took a turn for the unexpected, delving into deeply personal and even painful things that he didn't usually speak of even with friends. At times she averted her gaze, and he knew he must be studying her very boldly, but even if she occasionally looked shy and uncertain, she answered all his probing questions with plain honesty. And at other times, warmth and compassion shone bright in her eyes, and in the matter of just few minutes she disarmed him and took down walls he had spent years and years building. Her natural gentleness made him defenceless in a way he had not thought possible.
And then he was telling her things that had tormented him in some of the darkest, the loneliest moments of past few months – feelings he had been too ashamed to admit even to himself. Yet her look did not change, as if in her eyes, nothing he did could be beyond forgiveness. He felt so, so relieved, like some stone had fallen from his heart, or poison drawn from a wound he hadn't even noticed carrying. At last he understood that whatever he had felt and perhaps still partly did, however shameful it seemed, it was all right. To be seen, to be accepted, to be forgiven – well, that was a wondrous thing indeed.
All the same, Éomer now very much understood what Aragorn had meant last night when saying that he might learn some interesting things if he just spoke to her. And so he certainly had, not only about her, but himself, too.
He didn't realise it then, and wouldn't have admitted it even if he did, but that golden hour by the river Anduin gave him a kind of hope he had not felt in a long time.
The talk came to a close all too soon to his liking. Apparently he was needed at the manor house and lunch would be served soon. He was tempted to tell the servant he would be skipping the meal, but the lady might not appreciate it. So he got up and wiped his wet feet on the soft grass. He offered his hand to pull her up; somehow she managed it gracefully even with her skirts. Her feet were stained with mud and she didn't put her slippers back on, but picked them up and walked back with bare feet. Her nonchalance at displaying such lack of propriety before a foreign king was rather endearing, but he kept that thought to himself.
Éomer escorted the lady all the way back inside, and when they passed by Faramir and Elphir in the courtyard, he pretended not to see her brother's suspicious look or Faramir's exceedingly curious expression. Her obliviousness seemed more genuine, as she greeted them with a smile and a few light words. He guessed it was probably because she was quite used to men, young or old, buzzing around her, offering to carry her things and to escort her wherever she was going. A lady like her, who was not merely related to many of the great houses of Gondor, but was also lovely and competent and kind, could not lack in admirers.
For whatever reason, this thought annoyed him. Did these hypothetical lordlings know to appreciate her as she deserved? Had they any idea of her grace and compassion? On the other hand, it wasn't any of his business. He barely knew her and had no right to be so presumptuous; he'd do well to remember his place.
They now approached the manor house and stepped through the gates, and Éomer was thinking of having to go and wash and change after the effort of sparring, although sweat had long since cooled off. It occurred to him that not once had the lady shown distaste for his sweaty, scruffy appearance. She walked calmly by his side, her expression as calm and tranquil as if they were strolling in the great marble halls of Mundburg. She was truly a marvel, and even though he could already picture Aragorn's gloating face to an excruciating detail, Éomer had to admit he looked forward to seeing more of her.
But this rather fond contemplation was interrupted when they reached the courtyard. The atmosphere had shifted into something he knew well; the unfamiliar horses, which were being led into the stables, were further proof. There were also armoured men in livery that didn't belong to any of his friends, though the device of a flowering vine wrapped around a longsword seemed familiar.
He shared a glance with Lady Lothíriel, but her answering look was as nonplussed as he felt. Who else was supposed to be joining them?
He got the answer as soon as they entered the entrance hall. Most of the company was gathered there, and Imrahil was talking in earnest with a young, tall man. His hair was dark and curly, but when Éomer met his eyes, he saw they were the familiar grey of Westernesse, same as hers and her family. His features were even and handsome, his nose was aquiline, and his cheeks freshly shaved. He was lean, resembling Imrahil and his sons very much in his build, and his finely made clothes and immaculate appearance indicated noble origins. Not a single curl in his well-groomed hair was out of place.
"There you are, daughter! Where have you been?" asked Imrahil, his eyes fixed on Lady Lothíriel.
"My lord of Rohan and I were just admiring the river, Father", she replied gracefully. Éomer nearly snorted out loud; he had certainly admired some things, but not one of them was the river.
It was as if Imrahil – and the young lordling – only now noticed Éomer. Which was curious, considering he couldn't stand out more in this company even if he tried. Glancing at her, he saw she had expertly hidden her slippers behind her back, and her long skirts effectively hid her mud-stained feet. Where he looked like he had just crawled out of undergrowth, she looked fresh and bright as a spring morning. Judging by the slight narrowing of the unfamiliar lordling's eyes and the slight wrinkle of his nose when he regarded Éomer, the new arrival was quite aware of that, too.
"Ah, of course. Where better to enjoy a lovely day?" said Imrahil and cast a completely oblivious smile at his Rohirric friend. It was amazing how a man usually so sharp-eyed saw no implications whatsoever in that statement, but Éomer was soon to learn why.
"King Éomer here needs no introduction, I imagine", he said to the lad, who had already hidden his earlier contemptuous look. He bowed gracefully, with same ease and lightness as an experienced dancer.
"Indeed not. It is an honour, my lord", said the young man, although Éomer profoundly doubted the honesty of that statement.
"Likewise", he said curtly, staring hard at the lordling, and was secretly and perhaps a little bit immaturely pleased to see how quickly the unfamiliar noble looked away.
Imrahil, quite unaware of the silent enmity between them, pressed his hand gently against the back of his daughter, gently pushing her closer to the youth.
"This is Lord Aegdir, son of Forlong of blessed memory. He has just come to join our party from his lands in Lossarnarch. Aegdir, here is my daughter, Lothíriel of Dol Amroth", said Imrahil, and though his voice held nothing but mild congeniality, Éomer knew at once what this was. His stomach turned at the look given to her by the lordling.
And just as he himself had the other night, Lord Aegdir picked up her hand and kissed her knuckles, although in Éomer's opinion, he held her fingers all too long.
"My lady", he said smoothly, almost huskily, "it is a pleasure to finally meet you."
Éomer had seen more than a few challenges in his time. This one could not have been clearer even if it had marched in nude, banging saucepan lids togetehr as it came.
So that's how it's going to be, is it?
To be continued.
A/N: Well, that was a fun one to write! I can't decide what is my favourite part of this chapter: Lothíriel meeting properly her cousin's new wife, or her talk with Éomer, or his thoughts about the conversation by the river. Also, what is a chapter without a little bit of cliffhanger in the end? ;)
I hadn't planned the arrival of the young Lord Aegdir, but there he was as I neared the end of this chapter, and I suddenly realised it fit rather well with everything I had written so far. It also explains why the interest is quick to bloom between Éomer and Lothíriel (and why it was necessary for this story). Forlong is one of the Gondorian lords who joined the Battle of Pelennor fields, and also one of the fallen; in canon, he doesn't have a son name Aegdir. In other words, this character is OC of mine, invented for the purpose of this story.
It is interesting to think of what Éomer thinks deep down about the events and the aftermath of the Ring War. In my opinion, people don't often realise or appreciate how much he endured, and how difficult it must be for him to let his sister go. Some readers actively ignore the fact that he had it pretty shitty, too, and go as far as blaming him of all people for Éowyn's troubles. Less is said about his sacrifices and troubles. This is what inspired one part of his conversation with Lothíriel, when she inquires if he's ever angry and he admits that nobody has asked him that. I think a part of him might indeed feel sometimes angry even at Éowyn, although ultimately, he wishes nothing but his sister's happiness and joy.
Thank you for reading and reviewing! Your comments, follows and favourites are most appreciated.
JennyVDM - Thank you! It's always a pleasure to write from his POV. :)
Hristonostore Onnediel - Hope you will continue to like the story!
Guest - No problem! ;)
xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - Thanks!
mystarlight - Thank you!
Boramir - Oh, Lothíriel noticed all right, but she doesn't really know what's up at that point. But Aragorn is a very perceptive man, so his understanding is a bit keener than other people.
I think your assessment of Éomer and how he'd react to being pushed is very plausible! He likes to do things in his own way and time, frustrating though it may be for his friends and family at times. ;) As for Imrahil, his plans may be a bit different than you anticipated, but more on that later.
Also Éomer lives in dread of Éowyn getting a wind of this and trying to set him up with Lothíriel. :D
Rho67 - Thank you! It's occasionally fun to take a bold and strong character and show them being a little bit shy and nervous. It makes them more human, I think. But he performs much better when there's not an audience that will hound him to death and beyond with questions and curiosity.
Some stories work better (at least for me) when they are just from one POV, but this isn't one of them! Also its's very entertaining writing them both as little bit oblivious to how interested the other one actually is. ;)
I'm happy to help with feeding the obsession! :D
Guest - Thank you! :)
EStrunk - Same here! I think this chapter should give more light to that bit in the author's note! ;)
Simplegurl4u - Thank you! :)
I like writing them just being normal siblings, but like I said earlier, it's also interesting to explore the darker feelings they might have had towards another.
Tibblets - Glad to hear you think so!
Jo - I'm happy you got time to check out the story! I am rather pleased with how the tone is working out in this story, too.