Chapter 16

One month later

When Lothíriel startled awake, her first thought was that she was in Emyn Arnen, coming back to her senses in the infirmary. A cold sheen of sweat covered her brow and she was breathing heavily. Anxiety washed over her and in that confused moment, phantom pain throbbed in her shoulder, as sharp as if it was just hours since the arrow was pulled out of her flesh.

But eventually, her mind resurfaced from this nightmare and her surroundings began to make sense again. It was night, but not completely dark: the sky was clear and the nearly full moon brought enough light. Here in the White City, it felt like the moon's light was caught in stone, glowing softly. The stillness was almost eerie.

Lothíriel had come to Minas Tirith among the company of Queen Arwen when the royal entourage departed Ithilien. One reason was the betrothal and the plan to make it formal before the campaign started. The other was King Elessar's recommendation. He had advised she should not yet make long trips, and Minas Tirith was much closer to Emyn Arnen than Dol Amroth. Father had readily agreed, probably because he felt easier when she was close to the King and the Houses of Healing. She had healed as well as anyone could hope, but she also knew that the accident had profoundly shaken her family. She did not wish to cause them further pain and so had complied, and at any rate, she had her own reasons for coming here instead of travelling back to Dol Amroth with her father and brothers.

That reason was the proximity of Queen Arwen and the opportunity to learn from the royal consort. She didn't intend to emulate the Half-elven queen – nobody could hope to accomplish it – and Meduseld would be a very different court, but any perspective seemed useful to her. And here, close to the royal library, she could consult the vast collections of books and scrolls and read about Rohirrim and their customs. Of course, everyone was telling her not to push herself so soon after the injury, but she felt as healthy as ever and meant to spend her time in Minas Tirith usefully. And so she was here, staying for the moment in the guest houses of the Citadel. Once her Father arrived in the city, she would go to join him and her brothers at the Amrothian family's town house.

She sat up and flung her feet over the edge of the bed. As if by themselves, her fingers reached inside the neck of her shift, cautiously looking for the scar tissue on her shoulder and feeling for the pain that was not there. She touched the uneven, bumpy surface of the scar, healed but still tender. It was a ghastly sight, like a crimson gash across her otherwise unmarred skin. King Elessar had sown the wound neatly, but you would not guess that from the sight of the scar. He had told her that wounds that had taken poison, particularly the orcish kind, could sometimes take a long time to heal. More often than not such wounds would become unsightly scars.

But she should not complain; she had got off relatively easily, and only her husband would ever bear witness to the ruined skin of her shoulder. And he would have seen much worse in his time.

Her husband. Even now it felt overwhelming to think of Éomer that way, although here she was waiting for his return, and for making the betrothal official. It seemed to her it would only become real after the fact, not a moment before. What if he repented while he was in his homeland? Met someone more beautiful and charming than her? Or what if his council would make trouble and try to prevent this match? Having such misgiving and fears surprised even herself, and did not know where it came from. Éomer himself had not given her a reason to doubt him. He had been so lovely while she convalesced, taking her to short walks in Éowyn's garden and playing the harp for her whenever she wished. The memory of those hours spent together was already treasured.

After she had spent a few days recovering – and reassuring him that she would be all right – he had finally taken his leave of Emyn Arnen, travelling back to Rohan. He had departed in a determined, hopeful mood, telling her he would deal with the inevitable politicking and make sure there would be no muttering about the betrothal, and that they could marry as soon as he was back from war. She had no doubt it would be so, but still occasionally wondered what his people would make of his Gondorian bride.

It was some days, a week maybe, before he was expected in Minas Tirith again. How she ached for that hour! It was easy to be reassured in his presence – easy to feel safe. Was that how everyone felt with Éomer? Well, she certainly did, and missed him with an ache much deeper than the pain of the wound in her nightmare.

She got up on her feet, padding slowly to where a pitcher of water was standing. She poured herself a drink and downed it in almost one go, for she was thirsty. Then she stood there looking outside and feeling still restless, though she didn't rightly know what made her so anxious.

Yes, it was difficult to wait. But she had agreed to it when she had accepted him. Waiting would, perhaps, always be the price of loving him. But had she desired easy, uncomplicated things, she would have chosen Aegdir – and probably withered in the slow passage of time and the wearing of life she had not really wanted for herself.

Lothíriel blinked. She hadn't even thought about Aegdir since her departure from Emyn Arnen. It was probably a good sign, and meant that nothing remained unresolved. After recovering for a few days, she had summoned him to Éowyn's workroom, where the White Lady herself kept watch over the conversation, glowering as only the Slayer of the Witch-king could. However unpleasant it had seemed at the time, Lothíriel was now glad to have spoken to him for one last time. Éowyn's presence certainly had helped. How the poor lad had grovelled before her! Lothíriel did not even care whether it was because Aegdir truly was that sorry, or if he was scared of Éowyn's vengeance. But either way, she believed the young man's regret was genuine. His appearance uncharacteristically unkempt, his eyes brimming with tears, the lordling would probably have begged on his knees had she required it. His explanations were much as expected: he had drunk too much, was so disappointed, was so hurt and felt so betrayed. But he never acted as if it excused anything, which she appreciated.

And it was disappointing and painful to be left behind. She wondered if Éomer was aware of the similarity – and of the irony. Of course, in that regard he was the better man. For he would have let her go, if she had chosen differently, and borne the pain of rejection with grace and dignity.

Aegdir's response had been quite different, and it had earned him what was effectively exile. Father's good opinion was lost, perhaps for ever, and it would take time to repair his reputation in the eyes of the Gondorian society. Doubtless he was already on his way to Laketown, enduring the long and difficult journey, and not looking forward to his indefinite posting in the infamously damp, unprepossessing city in the faraway north. It would be a dramatic chance to the sunny, pleasant fields and forests of Lossarnarch, long happy days spent hunting under the trees, and the sweet and easy life of Minas Tirith.

But now Aegdir was in her past and she was content to leave him there. Perhaps she would meet him one day again, but she expected by that time, age and experience would have smoothed away any bitterness created by the events at Emyn Arnen. Father seemed to be of a similar mind as her, but her brothers' thoughts varied, Amrothos being the most dissatisfied. She knew it because he felt like everything that had happened was his fault.

No wonder he was also the most eager for the campaign – and for some kind of an opportunity of making amends, even though not one member of the family blamed him for anything. While their father, Elphir and Erchirion had travelled to Dol Amroth, Amrothos had stayed behind in Emyn Arnen, volunteering his aid to the Rangers. Elphir would stay behind to rule the city by the sea, but Father and Erchirion would be soon sailing back north, bringing the strength of Dol Amroth with them.

And then, after Éomer and his Rohirrim had arrived, the lords of the West would begin their campaign to purge Ithilien of the servants of Shadow still lingering there.

She shook her head and drained her cup of water. These dark watches of the night was not the time to think about the war. It was still some hours before dawn and though she was a guest to Queen Arwen, days in the White City could still be exceedingly busy; she better get back to bed and rest.

Hopefully, it would be without any more nightmares.

The day had been windy, but as the Sun sailed westward and shadows grew longer on the road, the air began to grow more still. Scouts returned, reporting of clear road ahead, and a sheltered vale that would serve well for tonight's camp. It was still a couple of days journey to Mundburg, but the mood was already getting more excited. Many looked forward to meeting old comrades from the Ring War, but there were also younger Riders partaking their first major campaign and dreaming of mighty deeds at arms that would bring them glory.

The King of Rohan rode in the front of the host, surrounded by his Knights and closest advisers. Behind him, companies rode in formation, singing and talking. Éomer had chosen only such Riders who were warriors by trade and served regularly with his Marshals. This was not an hour of desperate need, when every hand able to wield a sword and spear was required. The great charge of Rohirrim in the Battle of Pelennor fields was their most devastating weapon, but the sheer force, mass and speed of them also served as a safeguard for the farmers and craftsmen riding in the midst. This campaign was different. Now he needed warriors skilled with multiple weapons, and ability to fight as well on foot as on horseback. Stealth, scouting, ambushing, endurance: these things would be much more useful than brute force.

During that final mile before they reached the camping site, his thoughts turned from battle to other, more pleasant things. Usually in the past, he had felt excitement at the prospect of fighting and proving his worth, but now he found there was something else he awaited much more eagerly.

That something was, of course, her.

It was a strange thing to realise and to admit for him as a renowned warrior king, that there was something sweeter than battle-fury and victory. But now these seemed pale, vain things in comparison to Lothíriel of Dol Amroth. Every day, she was in his thoughts, sometimes to the point of distraction. Personally, he did not mind, but publicly, it could be inconvenient. There was so much to take care of, and his council was not making things easy. Like he had expected, they were not pleased with having to let him to go to war while there was still no heir in the land. Moreover, the War of the Ring was in fresh memory for them all and they were justified in their concern for preserving the lives of Rohirrim. Fortunately, a compromise was eventually negotiated. It helped that he was taking only trained warriors with him. There was Éowyn, too: she was well beloved among Rohirrim and the majority of their people wanted to aid her. But there was one major, personal pledge he had made and this, he suspected, might be an obstacle. It all depended on Lothíriel.

And so he was now filled with hope and dread. What if things were different after their parting? What if she had already changed her mind? What would she say when they met again? Was she even all right at this time? She had seemed hale, and had recovered well after the injury, but who knew how things had gone with her since then? It had weighed on him constantly. And even if she were safe and sound right now, what would she say when she heard of the promise he had made? There was no guarantee she would agree to it.

"You look gloomy, lord."

It was Ceolmund, an old warrior of the East-Mark, who spoke to him. He was of similar age with Théoden, but his appearance belied it, for he seemed at least ten years younger. His white-blond hair was in neat braids, his beard long but well cared for, and his array fine and rich. He was not noble by birth but years ago, his extraordinary courage in battle had earned him the trust of the King himself, and gifts of land according to it. He had served in Théoden's council before Wormtongue expelled him, but Éomer had made a point of reinstating this man as soon as he had returned to take up the throne in Edoras. They did not often agree, but the young king knew it was wise to listen to the old lord. And Ceolmund still had many supporters among Rohirrim.

"I was just thinking", said Éomer, looking ahead to horizon.

"Perhaps about your bride?" asked Ceolmund.

Éomer gritted his teeth. Even now Ceolmund tested him, just as he had for these past weeks. It was getting on his nerves, although he knew the old man did not do it because it was somehow amusing. Ceolmund loved the Riddermark as much as Éomer himself did; he simply wanted to make sure their way of life continued after he was gone. But did it always have to be so difficult?

"Yes, but not in the way you think", Éomer replied, looking straight ahead.

"You are much too taciturn in your speech, Lord. You would not have agreed to this if you did not fancy her. Henceforth, I would expect a more forthcoming attitude", Ceoldmund said calmly.

"I fancy her, indeed. But I don't like having this conversation when she is not privy to it. I've already once made the mistake of making decisions that involved her, without her knowledge, and I do not wish to make it again", Éomer said simply. He did not care to explain further, and Ceolmund did not ask. A man of his discernment would already have pieced out the story.

"There will be conversation once we reach Mundburg, lord, and then the lady will be able to let her voice be heard", said th old man.

"And if she says no?" Éomer asked, frowning. For that was a possibility. Ceolmund's suggestion was outrageous – although Éomer himself seemed to be the only one who thought so – and now that Lothíriel had had an entire month to reflect on everything, her enthusiasm may have simmered down. Ceolmund and the rest of the royal council had already driven him a hard bargain when they had given their blessing to this campaign, and if their safeguard was denied… well, it would not be pretty for any of them.

"For your sake, lord, and also mine, I hope that she does not", Ceolmund said evenly. He was awfully calm for a man who was risking his own political prestige. Then again, he had always liked Imrahil very much, and Éomer himself had not spared his praises of Lothíriel. Éothain had not been wrong to suggest that the council would consider this union one of Éomer's better ideas. Risk or not, he could understand why his advisers, and Ceolmund in particular, had jumped at it so quickly.

But perhaps there was also some kind of a vindication for her in it, whether or not Lothíriel herself would understand it that way. This time, the choice would completely hers. For Éomer still felt like he owed her after his blunders and impatience.

"Still, I wish there had been another way", he said quietly. "However I look at it, it's a sacrifice for her."

Not for him, though. Éomer was well aware that if she agreed, he was the one getting the better end of the deal.

"You are the King of Rohan. Sacrifice is a part of your duty, and hers, if she means to wed you. The lady ought to walk forward with both eyes open, not expecting fairy tales. And if she is indeed everything you have described, lord, the council's request should not be a problem", Ceolmund replied. He sounded quite indifferent to his lord's doubts. But it was his job to speak to the king when Éomer was busy being the man.

He had a way with words and could be persuasive. That was why Éomer had agreed to even entertain this idea, despite these misgivings. He grunted under his breath.

"Be glad, lord. You will be seeing your lady very soon", said the old Rider, flashed a thin smile that held only a hint of warmth, and then fell back again.

The host reached their camping site and like a well-oiled machine, began to settle down for the night. Horses were watered and tended to, cooking fires were started, and the King's pavilion was raised. His lieutenants gathered there for supper and conversation, which mostly consisted of talking strategy. Marshal Elfhelm was riding with Éomer, but Erkenbrand had stayed behind to keep watch over the Riddermark. Ceolmund was present as well, although he was not to partake in the campaign. His part would begin and end in Mundburg.

Tonight, Éomer mostly just listened to his lieutenants. His mind was not so much in the war to come, but in what would happen once they reached the White City. Often his hand found its way to his neck: there on a leather chord, he wore Lothíriel's ring, silver with a bright blue jewel. She had given it to him as a keepsake when he had left Emyn Arnen. It was too small for him to wear in his finger, but at least this way he could always keep it close. It almost felt like some kind of a ward, or a charm for good luck. Absent-mindedly, he would rub it in his hand and think of her.

His lieutenants quickly noticed his thoughts were not with them tonight, and soon after supper, they exited one by one. Only Éothain remained.

"You've been quiet today", the captain observed once the two Rohirrim were alone.

"There is a lot on my mind", said Éomer, not meeting his friend's eyes. He poured himself some more ale and propped one leg up on a chair.

"Good or bad things?"

"Both, I'm afraid."

"Did Ceolmund put you in this frame of mind? I saw you talking to him before we raised camp."

Of course Éothain had seen it. Few things escaped his notice.

"It's not just his fault."

"Even so, I don't understand why you dragged that old bugger out of retirement. I think he belongs in the by-gone world."

"Perhaps, but that doesn't mean he's useless. He served my uncle for many years and Théoden trusted him. Many support him and see him as the voice of the common people. Even if I don't always agree with the man, there's still much that I can learn from him", Éomer pointed out.

"Well, I suppose that's why you're the king and I'm not. His suggestion is a bold move, I'll give him that", Éothain conceded and regarded his liege-lord. "I thought you might be more excited about it."

"In other circumstances, maybe. I am worried of whatshe will say. She may have changed her mind and even if she has not, I'm afraid it is too much to ask of her. She expects something very different. This could ruin everything", Éomer said in a low voice. His grip of his mug of ale tightened.

"Not in my opinion. I spent days watching you with her. You would barely leave her side on those last days we spent in Emyn Arnen, nor would she let you out of her sight. I've never seen a pair more smitten. The lass is silly about you, my friend – just silly enough to do this thing, however unexpected or outrageous. I know you have a hard time trusting good fortune to come your way, but this time, I think it is happening. You'll see", Éothain said, so confident that even Éomer almost believed it.

Almost. There was plenty that could still go wrong; he did not dare to trust it yet.

"Still, I wish it did not have to come at her expense", he said, frowning.

"Her expense? You make it sound as if Ceolmund is planning to force her, and as if you were some kind of an ogre. The lass is just as willing as you are. I will not say she's not in for a surprise, but I think she's actually the one woman in Gondor who can go through with this. Who wants to go through with it. So stop worrying already and start thinking of the bright side", Éothain said and kicked the leg of the chair Éomer was using to prop up his foot. The chair rocked but did not fall.

"I will leave that to others for the time being. I shall think of the bright side once the deed is done."

Éothain grumbled.

"Must you always be so stubborn? I really hope she does something about that. Although she will have her work cut out for her", he muttered, shaking his head.

Éomer decidedly ignored the last sentence.

"Lothíriel, hurry up! We need to get going if we mean to get to the Citadel on time!"

Amrothos. Of course it was Amrothos yelling like that, right behind her door. Doubtless Father had sent him to tell her to hurry, but her brother made it sound like there was a fire in the kitchen and they would all burn to death unless she moved right now. He had come from Emyn Arnen to join the family; even in such a time, one could count him not to miss a party.

Well, perhaps party was not the right word. It was far too merry in the face of a coming war. Father spoke of "the gathering" or "our common cause", but that sounded all too sober for her. While Lothíriel was well aware that none of this was a laughing matter, she couldn't help the joy that bubbled in her chest. Today, she would see Éomer again. The Host of Rohan was already nearing the city and the silver trumpets had announced his arrival, and she would indeed have to make haste if she meant to be there when King Elessar and Queen Arwen welcomed the Lord of the Mark into the city, along with his captains.

"Just a minute!" she called back to her brother and adjusted the Amrothian pearls on her neck, while her maid added finishing touches to her hair. The dress, made of dark blue silk, fell gently around her feet. She had made some special effort for her appearance today, both because she very much looked forward to seeing Éomer's face when they met again, and because she wanted to put her best foot forward for his company. Considering the circumstances, there was bound to be Rohirric dignitaries present today and they would scrutinise their king's intended with all due particularity and criticism. She wanted to reassure them that she was up to the task, that she was committed and unafraid of the time of waiting that surely was ahead of her and Éomer. He had not told her much about his council or his trusted companions, but she did not expect they would all bear the same good will as Éothain, the Captain of the King's Guard. There were always conflicting interests and myriad agendas between noble houses and she did not think that in this regard, Rohan was different than Gondor.

Deciding she was now as ready as she could be, she flashed a smile at her maid and hurried to the door, which Amrothos had started to knock forcibly.

"Come along now, brother", she told him as she swept out of her chambers and past him, as if he was the one who was holding them back. He followed suit, grumbling.

Father and Erchirion awaited them in the entrance hall; Elphir and his family, and Ivriniel too, were not present, for they had stayed to take care of Dol Amroth while the campaign lasted. Their sire looked as composed and tranquil as ever, but her brother seemed restless as he paced about the wide chamber. Erchirion glanced at her only briefly, muttering how pretty she looked, and went back to pacing. There was still some unease on her brother, though he and Éomer had reportedly made peace before the King of Rohan had left Emyn Arnen. Lothíriel did not know where this feeling came from and she had not had a chance to find out.

"There you are, daughter. How lovely you are today", Father said, smiling as he offered his arm to her. She flitted to his side.

"Thank you Father", she said, returning his smile.

"Are you hoping to catch your bridegroom unawares?" he asked, eyes alight with a teasing glint.

"Of course I am. We have been parted for an entire month and I want to make sure he will know what he has missed", she replied lightly as the twin doors leading outside were opened for them, and they stepped into the courtyard of the Prince's town-house. She pressed her father's arm and added, more seriously, "But that is not the only reason. You said he would probably bring nobles from his court, his advisers and other trusted folk. I wish to make a good impression on them. Éomer himself said this is an unusual time for betrothal."

"Indeed", Father conceded as they began to walk, her brothers following them. A group of Swan Knights held the rear, their gleaming armour clinking and rattling as they walked. Afternoon was now passing and the noise from the low levels of the city indicated the King of Rohan had entered the city.

"Be on your guard, though. Rohirrim are straightforward and quick-tempered people. I have no doubt they will see your grace and distinction, but they may have expectations that we cannot yet guess. They are not sending their king to a new war with light hearts, not as long as he remains without an heir, and I don't think they will try to hide their concerns", he continued in a low voice, so that only she could hear him. She looked ahead, thinking.

"You met many of them during the war, and again when you participated in King Théoden's funeral. What are they like?" she asked him after a moment.

"Aside from straightforward and quick-tempered? Rohirrim are proud and fierce, and some of them can be prickly. But as long as you treat them with courtesy and respect, you'll be fine. They love Éomer and Éowyn, as if they were their heroes of old come again, and many will take their cues from the famous siblings. But I've heard some rumours that not all think he is the right man for the throne", Father said soberly.

"Isn't he the only man, though?" Lothíriel asked; as far as she knew, he and Éowyn were the only living scions of the House of Eorl, the royal line of Rohan.

"I suppose there were some distant cousins they might dig up at the uttermost need, but you are correct: Éomer is really the only one they have left, now that Éowyn has chosen a life in Gondor. And he was already famous among his people before the War of the Ring, unlike any of the obscure cousins, and he was always loyal and steadfast even when the odds were against him. So they want him to be that man indeed. Bear that in mind, because if they expect much of him, so they will expect much of you", he said, pressing her hand.

"And that is their right. I'm not afraid of challenge. I wouldn't have chosen Éomer, were I faint-hearted", Lothíriel said, lifting her chin.

"No, my child. I see now you were made for greater things than I ever foresaw. And I know you will keep your calm today, whatever it brings", he told her; only the smallest break in his voice revealed his emotion.

As if he somehow already knew.

The Citadel was already full of people when the Amrothians arrived. Many people from the lower levels of the city had come to watch the meeting of the two kings and half of the nobles of the realm seemed to be present, eager to be a part of these happenings. Some of the lords would doubtless serve as officers under King Elessar's command, but Lothíriel knew many had come to the White City simply to satisfy their curiosity. The atmosphere was excited and electrified. Nothing like this had been seen since the War of the Ring had ended, although the scale was not same. Knights in the livery of the Citadel stood guard, lining the paved road that lead to the great white spire which ruled the city. Their polished helmets and tall spears gleamed in sunlight, as if there was cold fire caught in the metal ready to spring forth. The White Tree, still in flower, presided over all.

They met Éowyn and Faramir almost as soon as they had entered the Tower of Ecthelion, and many more of the highest nobility of the land were there too, but the Lady of Ithilien stood out with her cheerful greeting. She was smiling and waving her hand at the Amrothians. Some standing close to her and the Steward could not refrain from narrow looks, but Faramir gazed at his wife with the usual smitten expression, and Father steered their own company straight to his nephew and his wife.

"There you are! I was starting to worry you had got caught in the crowds outside. It feels like some kind of a public holiday out there", said Éowyn when they finally were at a speaking distance. "It's so good to see you!"

"It's good to see you too. Both of you", Lothíriel said, smiling at her cousin and his lady. It seemed odd to think that only some two months ago, she had not even known Éowyn. But after Emyn Arnen, and particularly the way this fair woman had taken care of her after her accident, Lothíriel knew this was only the beginning of a long, deep friendship.

"How fares Emyn Arnen in your absence?" asked Father. "It can't have been easy to leave your home at this time."

"No, it was not. Hence the reason we arrived in the city only late last night. There is much to do while we prepare, but Aragorn's soldiers will keep our home safe in our absence. Beregond commands them. He will watch over Ithilien in our absence", said Faramir, more sober than his wife.

"We wouldn't miss this for anything, though. You'll see", Éowyn said and cast a meaningful look at Lothíriel, which piqued her interest. Something was clearly on her friend's mind. Like her brother, Éowyn was an open book to those she let close to her.

Lothíriel would have liked to find out more, but it was then the herald announced the arrival of King Elessar and Queen Arwen. The Queen's pregnancy was starting to show, but she still moved and presented herself with that same ethereal grace she had always possessed. The King's face was grave, as was fitting for this moment, but Lothíriel thought she could see a faint shadow of a smile on his features. No matter the circumstances, the meeting of dear friends was always a happy event.

The rest of the company took their positions in the entourage, and then slowly moved outside. Tension was rising to new heights. Somewhere beyond the gates of the Citadel, the sounds of approaching Riders could be heard. A cheer rose like a wave; she had never heard anything quite like it. Rohirrim were the most welcome of friends in this city, which so many of them had died to defend. Now they were lending their strong arm to Gondor once again. Warmth spread in her chest and she felt a sudden sting in her eyes. She had heard so many tales about the Horns of Rohan singing in the dawn over Pelennor Fields, and she knew it was only because of Rohan that the White City still stood proud and fair, but she had never felt it so strongly as she did now. It was a sacrifice that could never be repaid, a bond that could not be spoken in words. A priceless friendship that she, Lothíriel understood then, was to also be her duty. She would do what she could to cherish it.

Another cheer rose beyond just the gates of the Citadel. First she saw the standard: a great white horse running free on a green field. So cunning had been the art of its maker that when the sudden wind caught in rich fabric, it looked like the horse was galloping indeed.

Then came the long-awaited company. She saw him first of course, looking much as the night they had first met. He wore his fine armour and the beautiful green cloak, but his horse-tail helmet was under his arm. Sunlight was in his hair, brightly shining. Rohan had come.

But in that moment her dread and doubt of last night also returned. She suddenly felt so nervous that it was difficult to stand still and calm. Her heart began to race as panicked thoughts flashed through her mind, all filled with the fear of rejection. Seeing him in all his glory, this mighty lord tried in many battles and admired by the cheering crowd, she felt like she could not possibly compare – and that he would realise it, too. She wanted to grab her father's hand and tell him to whisk her away before she would have to see the inevitable disappointment in the eyes of her betrothed.

Then Éomer finally came near enough to spot her in the crowd. His eyes found hers and his face lit up with a broad, bright smile. It was like sun had suddenly emerged from behind the clouds. And just like that, all fear vanished. Relief flooded her so powerfully that Lothíriel very nearly took off running to greet him. But her father's steady arm reminded her of where they were, and that the happy reunion would have to wait. She took a deep breath to calm her racing thoughts and responded to Éomer's smile. All was well. Weeks of absence had not changed anything between them, not in any way that mattered.

He held her eyes up until the moment he reached the King and Queen of Gondor, and seemed to tear off his gaze only reluctantly. This was an occasion of far greater formality than back in Emyn Arnen: he could not go first to his sister or his betrothed. He still embraced King Elessar, his brother in arms, but instead of a bearded kiss to Queen Arwen's cheek, he nodded to her politely.

Now Lothíriel could breathe evenly again and pay attention to the rest of Rohirrim. She recognised many of the knights who had accompanied him to Ithilien, Captain Éothain foremost among them. But there were a number of unfamiliar faces. Thankfully, Erchirion was standing right behind her and he was whispering under his breath, telling her their names.

At Éomer's right side stood another warrior in heavy armour and a rich cloak, much like Éomer. He was older than his king, but Lothíriel felt like there was an ease between them that spoke of a long friendship. Erchirion whispered he was Marshal Elfhelm. This name she knew from the stories of the War of the Ring: he had defended Minas Tirith while Éomer rode for the Black Gate. On the King's left side, there was an older gentleman with hair so light it looked white in sunlight. He wore no armour or sword, but from his posture and confident gait she guessed he must have been a warrior in his time. Erchirion named him Master Ceolmund, member of the royal council of Rohan. As soon as Lothíriel's eyes fell on him, she realised the man had already been studying her for a while. His bright blue eyes were sharp and discerning, and his expression showed no embarrassment for being caught staring. Whether he had known who she was just by looking, or figured it out because he knew her father, she could not say. Neither could she guess what the old Rohir made of her. She offered him a slight, polite smile, but could not perceive anything in answer upon his features. Whatever Éomer had told his people about his intended, it seemingly had not endeared at least this one man to her.

As intriguing as this individual was, there were more yet among Éomer's company. There stood a tall woman in her fifties. Though she had walked with a limp and used a cane for support, her stance was proud and strong Lothíriel realised this woman was, or had been, one of Rohan's famous shieldmaidens. Her long, fair hair was in elaborate braids and the green of her riding gown, split from hips down to reveal well-made leggins, was dark as forest in twilight. It was hard not to stare at her, because Lothíriel had never seen such a woman before. This was not a cordial matron, nor a stern mistress of a noble house, but a breed entirely different. She did not carry a blade that could be seen, but judging by her proud look, the cane was all the weapon she needed. Lothíriel was surprised to hear that this was Princess Hild, aunt to Éomer and Éowyn. Neither of them had spoken of the woman, but she guessed it was not for the lack of stories. Father had not mentioned her earlier, which Lothíriel took to mean that the princess was not an active agent in matters concerning the succession in Rohan. She had not heard of other cousins beyond Prince Théodred, indicating the impressive aunt had no heirs of her own.

Her eyes would have lingered on the tall old lady hadn't Erchirion then continued his narration. Éomer's most immediate circle of trusted allies also included a younger man, who was perhaps of the similar age as the king or perhaps even younger. Her brother called him Lord Dunstan. He was as tall as the other Rohirrim around him, save Éomer himself, but he was more slender than the rest of them and wore a riding habit instead of armour. He was not a warrior, and Erchirion was not clear on what his exact job description was, but it was something between a scribe and the King's secretary.

In addition, there were also a number of Rohirric nobles, only some of whom Erchirion knew. Lothíriel did not say so to her brother, although she was sure he noticed it too, but there were surprisingly many of them, considering the nature of this gathering. She had thought he would bring only his warriors, maybe a few such people as he would need in preparing for the campaign, and a couple of witnesses and advisers for matters concerning his betrothal. This entourage suggested some other purpose that she could not yet see.

King Elessar had now spoken his greetings to the Rohirrim and slowly the company moved inside the royal court. Around the two sovereigns, there seemed to be an impenetrable but unseen wall and Lothíriel knew her own reunion with her betrothed was going to have to wait.

Servants flitted around the crowd, offering drinks to the guests. Lively conversations erupted everywhere around them as friends and comrades met one another. King Éomer and King Elessar were only the one famous pair whose friendship was forged in the War of the Ring, but they certainly were not the only one.

It was in this bustle that Lord Dunstan materialised before her and Father. He smiled and bowed deeply.

"Prince Imrahil. It has been too long", he said, his voice mild and pleasant.

"Indeed, Lord Dunstan. I trust your king keeps you as busy as mine keeps me", Father said. "Come, meet my daughter, Lady Lothíriel."

"It is an honour, my lady. Since he returned weeks ago, Éomer King has spoken of two things only: the campaign and yourself. I now understand why you have kept him so preoccupied", said the young Rohir. His eloquence surprised her a little bit, for she was more used to Éomer's more straightforward, unadorned way of speech. Unconsciously she had attached that quality to all Rohirrim. But being a scribe, this man's disposition was perhaps more familiar to Gondorian expectations.

"Thank you, my lord. You are too kind", she replied, smiling.

"Not at all, my lady", he said and then glanced at her father. "Speaking of my lord King, he regrets that he can't greet you right away. He has asked me to convey his regards, and that he would like to request an audience as soon as possible. If I may advise you, my lord Imrahil and Lady Lothíriel, you might want to bring your own people to the audience."

Lothíriel raised a brow in curiosity. Éomer wanted a formal audience with them, complete with retainers? That was not her idea of a fond greeting between lovers. She glanced at her father, but he looked just as nonplussed as she felt.

"What does your king have in mind, Lord Dunstan?" Father asked.

"I would rather not say. Éomer King would like to explain things properly, and in private", the Rohir answered. Seeing their looks, he smiled and continued, "My lord said you might feel confused. He knows this is unexpected and asks for your patience. There is no reason for alamr. As for my lady Lothíriel... he wants me to tell you he has missed you very much, and he can't wait for the hour when you may be together again. He said other things too, but I'm afraid that in my position as a mere servant of the King, it's not appropriate for me to repeat his words. Doubtless he will deliver them himself, once the situation permits it."

Now, that sounded more like the Éomer she knew. A sense of warmth spread throughout her and she averted her gaze, but she could not fight a large smile.

"Very well. You may tell your lord that we are available as soon as it's convenient for him", Father said. He looked more concerned than Lothíriel herself felt; having seen how he watched her, and knowing that Éomer missed her, were enough to reassure her. Everything else she could deal with.

Lord Dunstan bowed again and took his leave, disappearing into the crowd.

"What do you think Éomer has in mind?" Lothíriel asked her father.

"It's hard to say. If he wants to meet us formally, it could be because something has happened in Rohan and it must be negotiated formally between our Houses. There may be some obstacles to the betrothal he did not foresee before he rode back home. But he has brought more of his folk than I expected, which is also curious, and curiouser still if there is indeed something in the way of your union. The matter must be urgent, though", Father answered slowly, watching the green-cloaked Rohirrim milling in the great hall.

He then turned to look at his daughter and went on, "We shall hear what it is soon enough. Judging by the words Éomer sent to you, I do not believe you need to be distressed."

"I am not afraid. I think I would know if something was wrong; I would have seen it in his face", she said. It was perhaps with more confidence than one might expect, but reading Éomer was not difficult, or at least it never had been for her.

Looking at her father in the eyes, she said, "I'm more concerned with what to expect from his companions. Have you any thought which of them will be present? Do you know them at all?"

"I have some idea. I do not know if Marshal Elfhelm will be privy to this audience, unless the issue has some military aspect. That I find doubtful, though he may take part as a personal friend. But we'll see. Master Ceolmund will be there for sure, for he is a member of the King's council. He is a discerning man and nearly as straightforward with his words as Éomer himself. In Rohan, I've heard some calling him a bird of ill omen, for he speaks hard truths and doesn't care who he offends. It has not earned him many friends during his life, although apparently King Théoden saw his merit, and Éomer does too", Father said. He fell silent for a moment before continuing, "Lord Dunstan you already met and I expect he'll be present, too. Whatever is discussed today, he will probably be the one reporting back to the rest of Éomer's officers back in Rohan. Lord Dunstan is one of the youngest in the King's inner circle, but do not let his age fool you: he's said to be one of the most learned men in Rohan, and certainly much subtler than Éomer or Ceolmund. But of the Princess Hild I know little. I saw her only briefly at her brother's funeral and never talked to her. I gleaned a few things, though. She and King Théoden fell out years ago and she left the court. Since then, she has taken little interest in the lives of the rest of her family. I believe she had some role in keeping order in Rohan while Éomer and Éowyn were in Gondor, but I don't have any particulars. Unless Éomer has somehow persuaded her to join his council and she's here in that capacity, I suppose she has come to bear witness to whatever he is planning."

Lothíriel's mind raced with this information. Erchirion's brief introductions certainly had not prepared her for how intriguing these individuals would be. Whatever the reason for the audience, it was bound to be an interesting gathering. Not that she had ever thought much about what kind of people took part in Éomer's council, but she surely was not surprised they were so fascinating.

Father misunderstood her silence.

"Be not disconcerted, daughter. My earlier advice holds true. As long as you treat these people with courtesy and respect, you will do just fine", he reassured her gently.

She lifted her eyes to meet his gaze.

"My own words hold true as well. I wouldn't be here, were I faint-hearted", she told him, making him smile.

"Indeed. Forgive me my worrying, Lothíriel. It's not because I think you incapable of handling this. I would just like to see you off to your new life with any safeguard that I am able to give you", he said quietly.

How dearly she would have liked to hug her father then, although they stood in the presence of the mightiest in land!

To be continued.

A/N: I had such trouble with this chapter before I decided to make a time jump and thus enter the so called second part, which I've hinted at before. After that decision, the story began to flow again.

So, Lothíriel has mended, and she has come to Minas Tirith; both because her father still worries about her and wants her to be close to Aragorn, but also because Lothíriel wants to observe Arwen and learn as much as she can about how to be a queen. Meanwhile, Éomer has ridden back to Rohan and mustered his Riders, but his council seem to have something unexpected in mind.

Princess Hild is based on one of the unnamed daughters of King Thengel and Queen Morwen. Tolkien named only Théoden and Théodwyn (the mother of Éomer and Éowyn). In my mind, Hild is a sister of Théoden born after Thengel and Morwen had returned to Rohan, but older than Théodwyn. I shall tell more about her later on.

Hild, Ceolmund and Dunstan are my original characters, but you are of course smart enough to notice where I've made up something.

This is my last update this year, so I hope you all Merry Christmas, or Happy Holidays if you don't celebrate. Here's to hoping the year 2023 will be easier on us all!

Thank you for reading and revieving! I do appreciate your comments greatly.

KCSwing04 - I have no intention of stopping!

Boramir - Interesting thoughts, as always! The Rohirric nobility are indeed keen to get Éomer married. But I also think there are bound to be some families more focused on their own interests than in what is the common good. So some families with biggern ambition than they have common sense might indeed make trouble in this situation.

Cathael - Glad to hear you think of it in that way! This version of Lothíriel is nothing if not pragmatic, although she does love him very much.

That ballad is one of my favourites among Tolkien's poetry. So I always kinda thought that maybe Éomer and Éowyn had some instruction in playing harp! It doesn't seem that unlikely, consideing Rohirrim are such musical culture.

Wondereye - Glad you liked it!

Cricket22 - Yes, sometimes fluff is essential. And considering what I've got in mind, the fluff in last chapter was well-placed indeed.

But they are well-matched indeed, no matter what's ahead.

Also good points about whether continuing this story or making a sequel. It's definitely easier this way.

mystarlight - Thanks!

xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - Thank you! I am very fond of that conversation, too.