Chapter 17

"She's as pigheaded as the rest of those horselords," the Warden muttered none-too-quietly as he wiped his hands on a towel, swiveling away from Lothíriel. With his back turned she rolled her eyes, annoyance dancing across her face. She hid it when he rotated toward her by busying herself arranging the surgical tools on the table between them. The pair had finished a brief surgery in the ward on a soldier from Rohan, the topic of the shieldmaiden inevitably brought up when he asked the other healer how the lady faired.

"She has many wounds yet to heal," she tried reasoning as Derufin snorted and shook his head. It was near midday and Lothíriel had already seen to her cousin, Éowyn and began rounding on patients from the main house. The Lady of Rohan had been in a sour mood that morning but agreed to take a walk with Lothíriel around the gardens later in the day.

"Her pride chief among them," the Warden grumbled with a frown. He seemed unsure how to manage Éowyn's care, vacillating between the recuperation of a woman on bedrest and treating her as a soldier. Lothíriel tried appealing to his pity but he appeared more irritated by the shieldmaiden's presence than empathetic.

"Perhaps she needs time… and patience."

"Perhaps," he granted with an assessing glance. "But I can't fathom what she might accomplish bothering the Steward as she did."

"I'm sorry?"

"She had me bring her to him just before we began surgery, if you can believe it! As though the Steward possessed some ability I do not to assuage her temper."

Lothíriel paused in her task, brows raised as she worked through this news. Although it was her hope to introduce Faramir to Éowyn she was surprised the Lady had requested to meet with him. From what Lothíriel knew the pair had no real knowledge of each other. Accepting the towel from the Warden to wipe her hands, the woman glanced at the exit before looking back to Derufin, whose expression was appraising, if not slightly smug.

"Go on then." When she stared at him he waved to the door. "Go see to your patient, Lady. We'll carry on well enough in your absence. As it stands, you're the only one the horse maid tolerates. 'Haps you'll speak sense into her."

With an appreciative nod, Lothíriel departed the room, anxious to find Éowyn. She wasn't sure why she was nervous the pair should meet without her intervention. Perhaps she wanted to be the one to facilitate or mediate it. Regardless, she reasoned with herself, it was puzzling Éowyn entreated the Warden to introduce her to the Steward.

Departing the main halls the Princess checked healing wards of nobility, both wings and chambers empty. She figured Faramir would be in the gardens, as he was prohibited from the Citadel by order of the Warden so he might fully recover without having to engage in politics. In Faramir's empty room the dark-haired healer paused to look out the long window, frozen by the view before her.

There stood her cousin conversing with the Lady of Rohan, walking slowly along the gravel path, facing eastward and away from Lothíriel. Ever the gentle soul, Faramir's body language was receptive, even as Éowyn seemed to bristle and pull away. Initially the healer felt pulled to join them but as she observed from the window above it became clear they did not need her intervention. Unbidden a smile came to Lothíriel's lips as she beheld the pair, wondering if perhaps they needed one another's company more than any tonic or salve from the healing house.

As she turned away, resolute in allowing them privacy, a longing settled in her breast. The more she mused upon it the more her thoughts drifted to the King of Rohan, his hazel eyes, quiet voice and strong embrace. It felt foolish to pine after him, their interactions so limited and influenced by the likelihood of eternal separation. But she could not deny a desire to walk among the gardens with him at her side, speaking of anything and nothing at all. Lothíriel reproached herself for leaning into the daydreams that came unsolicited. How easily could their interactions be explained by circumstance? And even if there was veracity to the closeness between them it could all be done away with if he were slain. Worse, she realized, if he returned and felt nothing toward her.

Don't be silly, she chided as she departed Faramir's chamber. Her cousin and Éowyn deserved companionship, if that was all that resulted from their meeting. It was ridiculous to assume anything more – for them or herself. Still, she could not rid herself of the hollow pit that remained. She tried to put it from her mind as someone else joined her in the hallway, the armor designating him a Marshall of Rohan. She offered a bow as they came closer, which he returned.

"Good afternoon, my Lady," he stated as they stopped before one another. She recognized him from the dining hall in the Citadel two days before, he being the younger of the two commanders of the Rohirrim left in Minas Tirith.

"My Lord," she replied with a polite bow of her head.

"I am Elfhelm, Captain of the remaining Rohirrim."

"Lothíriel. Is there something I can assist you with, Lord Elfhelm?"

"You are the healer attending my Lady, Éowyn?"

"I am."

"I was hoping to call on her," he answered with a glance down the vestibule. "Though I do not know her state and would not wish to impose."

"She is managing," Lothíriel answered as Elfhelm's expression shifted to concern. "But I am glad of her progress. Her injuries are healing."

"I am relieved to hear it. Would you bear a message to my Lady?"

"Certainly."

"Tell her if she has need I will be at her side. Éomer King left her in my care, though I am no healer and she is better off with you. I did promise to attend her needs."

"I will tell the Lady," Lothíriel promised with a smile. The young captain returned it, his posture easing slightly.

"And, should you need anything, mistress, please do not hesitate to seek me out personally. You and the other healers have saved the lives of many a Rohirric warrior. We are in your debt."

"You are most kind, Lord Elfhelm. I will give your message to the Lady. She is - "

"Lady Lothíriel!"

Her expression darkened immediately, Elfhelm's blonde brows raising before both turned to see Baranor striding toward them, one hand clasping the opposite wrist. Blood seeped between his fingers as he bore down on them, his blue gaze reserved for Lothíriel. Elfhelm bowed but did not move, his eyes darting between them with guarded curiosity.

"Lord Baranor," she greeted tightly, offering a slight curtsey. "What happened?"

"I was hoping to find you," he answered, stopping short of the pair with a casual nod to Elfhelm. "I seemed to have sliced my arm helping the boys in the yard. Would you have a moment to assist me?"

"You passed through the healing hall to find me?"

"The others seemed preoccupied and I didn't wish to bother them," he explained with a glance to Elfhelm. He sized the larger man up before offering a slight smile. "If I am not interrupting you, of course."

"Nay," the Rohirric man replied, his tone curt. "I was just departing." Turning to Lothíriel he offered a slow bow before rising and speaking. "Thank you for your time, mistress. Forget not, I am here should you have need of me." The final sentence was spoken with a glance to Baranor, who smiled rigidly. Lothíriel offered a reassuring nod to Elfhelm, who took his leave with a distrustful glare at Húrin's son. Turning her full attention to Baranor the woman indicated to his arm.

"Let's have a look."

Removing his hand, which allowed drops of blood to pool on the stone between them, the man tilted his forearm to display a narrow laceration. Untying her apron the healer covered his arm to keep it from weeping more blood and nodded to it.

"Hold this firmly. We can bandage it in the room just down here."

Lothíriel guided him down the corridor away from the convalescent chambers to the main halls. Both annoyed and curious why he eschewed the ward to find her in particular the healer motioned for him to take a seat at a table in the quiet hall. He acquiesced, resting the injured arm on the tabletop as she gathered the necessary materials from the nearby cart. Returning, she stood opposite and carefully unwrapped the makeshift bandage. She ignored the weight of his gaze on her as she cleaned the wound. It was not as bad as she initially thought, the incision shallower than the amount of blood suggested.

"How did you come by this injury?" she asked crisply as she worked, revealing the cut, which was short and clean across half the length of his forearm.

"The lads were sparing, and I caught the wrong end of a pike as I assisted them."

"It's not so deep," she observed as the pressure from the apron quelled the blood. "It didn't seem to have struck the vein, for which you are fortunate. No vambrace, my Lord?"

"Uh, no," he replied, brows furrowed. "I wasn't planning to be struck."

"All the same," she replied, washing the wound gently. "It seems unwise to be in a training yard without appropriate equipment."

Baranor said nothing, his eyes following her as she stepped to the side and selected a salve. Readjusting his arm on the table she cleaned the last traces of blood, taking note of the clean edge of the wound. Whatever blade made this cut was sharp, though she could not rule out a pike. The incision itself was thin, the layers of flesh barely peeling back. As she began applying the salve, she felt him tense under her fingers, suddenly aware of the intimacy of the interaction.

"This will numb the flesh, enough that sutures shouldn't cause too much distress," she stated absently, avoiding his gaze. "We'll let this absorb for a few moments then I can stitch the wound and you'll be on your way."

"I am grateful for your attention, my Lady."

"Any healer would do thus."

"All the same," he answered quietly. Despite the charitable tone she was ill at ease in his presence, though she couldn't say why. "Will you return to Dol Amroth?"

"I cannot know. It depends on the outcome of the war."

"Of course. Is this your first visit to the White City?" she looked up swiftly, caught off guard by the casualness of the question.

"No," she replied with a frown. "I have traveled here on occasion in my youth. The late Steward was my uncle. That alone gave us cause to visit."

"A pity I hadn't met you sooner," he paused before following his statement up carefully: "Rather, a shame that we're meeting under such circumstances." He leaned a bit closer, seemingly to adjust his stance but his face came dangerously close to hers. Lothíriel pulled back and busied herself with the suture kit. When she didn't respond he laughed awkwardly.

"I have never been a wordsmith, my Lady. You must forgive me."

"Hold still, please," she murmured as she prepared the needle. The urge to 'accidentally' pierce the skin untouched by the salve was overwhelming but she stayed her hand as he obeyed. She'd performed enough sutures that she anticipated the tensing of his muscle as she began the task, moving the needle quickly to avoid further discomfort. She noticed he looked away, the muscle in his jaw clenching as she worked.

The thread was from the stores intended to be used on aristocracy, coming from the more expensive material of silkworm. Although she doubted he would recognize the difference between the thread derived of plant fiber it was protocol to utilize the finer material on nobility and the son of the acting Lord of Minas Tirith certainly fell into that category, despite what she might think of him.

"There," she commented after several moments, knotting the end of the thread and slicing the surplus. Baranor regarded her work with a pensive gaze, tilting his forearm from side to side. Lothíriel took a small towel soaking in vinegar to the wound, causing him to hiss in a breath.

"I know," she murmured gently. "It stings. But this will keep ill humors from the wound as it heals. Return tomorrow and have the Warden take a look. It'll start itching in some days – that is a good sign. If it becomes too bothersome, we can wrap it."

"Then I can call on you to check?" Lothíriel paused in the tidying of her materials, grey eyes catching him in a glower.

"You did not acquire this injury just to see me, did you?"

"No," he snapped with a frown, blue eyes flashing with shadow as his face darkened. He stood up straight, settling his expression once more with a halfhearted smile. "I did not. But you were the first thought when it happened. You are practiced in your craft, Lady Lothíriel."

"Any healer should be able to check it," she answered cautiously, resuming her task. She felt his eyes on her as she returned the suture kit, vinegar bowl and clean linens to the cart and tossed the soiled apron into the basket. Taking a deep breath, the woman turned around, applying a placid mask on her face.

"Take care not to strain your arm lest you undo the stitches. If that is all, Lord Baranor, I must be off."

"Indeed," he murmured, pivoting his body in her direction as she walked toward the exit. "It seems you're always running from me, my Lady."

She paused, turning slightly on her heel. Steeling her expression to keep the irritation from showing she instead offered a polite, tight-lipped smile.

"I do not run, Lord Baranor. But I am much occupied with tasks. If that is all?" he offered a light nod, the smile on his lips not quite benevolent. She dropped a brief curtsey before departing, relieved he had the sense not to follow.

She was perplexed by his insistence and odd conduct. He would not behave thus if her father or brothers were present. Perhaps, she considered, that was intentional. A lone woman in the city was opportunity enough to be a braggart. Well, Lothíriel could weather a windbag sufficiently without her menfolk to intervene. Baranor was likely not used to being told no or rebuffed by the ladies of the city. He would eventually become bored and move on.

TTTT

Evening saw Lothíriel pausing outside Éowyn's chamber. She'd left the woman to her own devices for the remainder of the day; both a product of wanting her to have space to talk to Faramir but also a result of Lothíriel's schedule. Now she hesitated before entering to dine with the shieldmaiden, unsure how she would be received. Taking a breath she knocked on the door before announcing herself.

"It's Lothíriel," she called, her tone more cautious than she intended. When she was bade enter, she opened the door and slipped inside. Éowyn sat at the chair beside the table braiding her hair. She offered a welcoming smile as the dark-haired woman moved further into the room.

"Good evening," Lothíriel greeted her as she was invited to sit across from the Lady of Rohan.

"It is a better evening," Éowyn replied as she secured the braid. "Better than this morning, at least."

"I am glad!"

"I did miss you today, though. I expected to walk in the garden with you."

"Forgive me, my Lady. When I came to check in you were not in your chambers, and I became waylaid with other tasks."

"It's alright," the blonde woman answered lightly. Lothíriel couldn't help but notice a warmer glow to her skin, despite the shadows on her face.

"Oh, I should share with you that the Lord Elfhelm has asked after you, my Lady."

"That is good of him," Éowyn answered, though she seemed uncertain.

"Are you -"

She was cut off by the sound of the door opening again, this time bearing a servant with a plate of food. He was followed by Faramir, who halted in the doorway when he saw the two women. Lothíriel detected a slight smile on Éowyn's lips when he appeared and she sat quietly as the Steward addressed them.

"Good evening, my Ladies," he stated with a bow as Éowyn encouraged him to venture further in.

"Well met, my Lord Steward," the shieldmaiden replied before indicating to her companion. "This is Lothíriel, the healer attending to me."

"Ehm, yes," Faramir nodded, brows drawn. Looking between them Éowyn frowned, unable to discern his discomfort.

"You are acquainted, I suppose," she intoned, looking at Lothíriel with raised brows. Unable to hide a warmer smile the Lady of Dol Amroth stood as the plate was set before the shieldmaiden.

"Well acquainted, in fact. The Lord Faramir is my cousin."

"Your cousin?!" Éowyn's brow furrowed, not unlike her brother's, as she processed this information. Faramir appeared sheepish as he sidestepped the servant and drew his hands behind his back.

"Yes," Lothíriel continued congenially. "I mentioned I am from the coast. Dol Amroth, to be specific. You'll forgive me for keeping my complete identity from our conversations."

"But you're… that would mean…" Consternation affixed itself to Éowyn's visage as she looked between them before settling on Faramir. "Did you know she was attending me?"

"Ehm, well, yes," he murmured, a blush spreading from his collared neck up to his cheeks as he looked imploringly to his cousin. "It did not arise in our conversation, my Lady."

"I have been intentional with anyone who knows me to keep my anonymity," Lothíriel put in. "It was not a secret. But nor was it announced."

Éowyn stared at her, the frown tempering slightly. Faramir appeared utterly unsure of his next move and while Éowyn was distracted smoothing her dress Lothíriel jerked her head toward the shieldmaiden, encouraging him to speak further with raised brows.

"I do apologize," he murmured quickly as she looked at him. "I was meaning to check in on you. I didn't know you'd be here, Lothíriel."

"It's alright," Éowyn put in immediately, her tone reassuring. "I was not expecting this but do not fret, my Lord Steward. Thank you for your concern."

"I'll leave you to your supper. And have a plate brought for you, Cousin." Lothíriel nodded with a smile as he bowed to them. "I would be honored if you joined me in the garden on the morrow, Lady Éowyn."

"Yes, my Lord," she answered with a small smile. Faramir returned it and nodded to Lothíriel before departing, closing the door behind him. Still standing the younger woman turned to the shieldmaiden, unsure if they needed to have further words. Éowyn's countenance was more placid than Lothíriel had seen it, the smile lingering on her lips as she turned to look at the woman.

"I hope you do not feel deceived," Lothíriel murmured.

"No," Éowyn sighed. "Perhaps on first consideration I was. But then… the only way I came by this predicament was deception. I suppose I can hardly blame you. But…"

"Hmm?" Lothíriel's brows furrowed as she waited, worried the shieldmaiden would not wish to be seen by her once the truth came to light.

"Does my brother know?"

"Know who I am?"

"Yes. He thought, as I did, you were a healer from the city. Not the cousin of the Steward."

"I was honest with him. Before the Host left."

Éowyn said nothing, staring at her food as a knock came. The servant returned with another plate, placing on the table opposite the Lady's. Lothíriel nodded her thanks and waited until he left to speak again.

"I'd understand if this was too great an offense, my Lady. You are within your right to request another healer."

"Nonsense," the blonde woman retorted, gesturing to the other plate of food. "Sit and eat. I would be a fool to send you away for protecting your identity while I spent weeks outright lying about mine."

Lothíriel acquiesced with a relieved smile, which was returned. They ate in comfortable silence, the air between them relaxed. The Lady of Dol Amroth could not help but wonder where Éowyn's mind had drifted, fearful still that she felt deceived by the healer. Before she could remark upon it her companion spoke.

"Do you spend much time with the Steward?"

"For my part, yes," Lothíriel answered with a smile, wiping the corner of her mouth before continuing. "His mother was my father's sister. Faramir and his brother often spent summers in Dol Amroth. I was too young to be involved in the mischief, despite my best attempts. But my aunt was beloved by my father, and he wished to maintain a strong relationship with his nephews, even after her passing."

"I did not know she died. Was it recent?"

"No. Well before I was born. But it had quite an impact on my uncle, the late Steward, I am told. And by extension Faramir and Boromir."

"I do recall meeting Lord Boromir – this past summer, I believe. As he was passing through the Gap of Rohan. I heard he was felled some months ago."

"I grieve for Faramir," Lothíriel replied quietly. "Losing his brother and father in such short order. Taking up his father's seat during a time of war."

"What sort of man is he – if you do not mind me asking."

"He is the kindest and gentlest of souls, my Lady. He has ever been dutiful under his father's harsh gaze. But I suspect he longs for a simpler existence. One of love and stillness. If anyone were to deserve such a life it would be Faramir."

"I see." Éowyn's face softened as she considered this observation.

Lothíriel could not help but notice a tone of affection in the shieldmaiden's words as they spoke of her cousin. Eating again in silence the Princess thought then of Éomer and his sister's concern that he did not know Lothíriel's identity. She was grateful for the opportunity to be honest but wasn't sure why it mattered enough for Éowyn to ask. But the Lady of Rohan was clearly no longer thinking of her brother, a faint smile on her lips as she ate and a wistful look in her eyes. Not wishing to disrupt her peace Lothíriel kept her curiosity to herself, hopeful for more conversations in the days to come.

A/N: Thank you for your patience with these chapters - I feel like I have a lot of ground to cover before Éomer and Lothíriel are reunited! I'm going to try to wrap it up quickly and have them together again soon.