Chapter 24
For a field far from the majesty of the White City the court of the King was remarkable. Fine carpets were laid out, banners draped, long tables dressed in finery and numerous place settings. It seemed this was Cormallen's most level landscape allowing a "feast hall" to be established and a dais erected for the King's table. It was no Merethrond of Minas Tirith, or Ifrond of Dol Amroth but it took Lothíriel a moment of gaping to take it in as she arrived for dinner.
She'd concluded her day in the healing ward, affording only a short time to prepare for the meal with the Kings of Rohan and Gondor respectively. Her accommodations at the Dol Amroth pavilion were small but she had a chamber of sorts to herself, an extension of the Prince's quarters, which he shared with Amrothos. She was afforded a tented room with a bed, table and chairs and space enough to feel welcome.
Although she was not dressed in attire befitting the daughter of a Prince she'd discarded the apron and unbound her hair from the circlet, braiding twin plaits down her back in the style of a Minas Tirith noblewoman. In Dol Amroth it was common practice for women of her station to have their hair loose or partially braided. But Minas Tirith, per Ioreth's instructions, encouraged ladies to keep their hair in neat braids or pinned in elaborate buns and updos.
The plain brown dress would have to suffice for this dinner, the time it took to brush and re-plait her hair leaving no spell to switch to a dining gown. She had the wherewithal to secure a finely braided belt around her waist, fastened in the middle with a small pin, the excess hanging almost to her feet. The thin golden cord matched the simple embroidery on the hem of the dress, edges of the tight sleeves and modest neckline. She'd brought no jewelry to adorn her person but she figured no one would be expecting her to be garlanded by necklaces or finery here.
It was too warm for the dark blue cloak and she had to make do with the borrowed riding boots, which were occasionally visible peeking out from the bottom of the dress. Hardly Lothíriel's most put together outfit, but suitable. She slipped the thin letter from Éowyn into the hidden pocket of the dress's skirts, unwilling to be caught alone with Éomer again without it.
She was joined by Amrothos, who escorted her to dinner. The two Kings of Gondor and Rohan respectively sat together at the high table. Mithrandir was placed on the right of Aragon, the elf, Legolas and dwarf, Gimli beside him. The elven twins were split on either end of the table, one beside the dwarf, the other next to Imrahil. The Prince himself was installed on Éomer's left side, and he raised his glass to Amrothos and Lothíriel as they stood before the kings, bowing and curtseying in unison.
The siblings were seated just below the high table with Elfhelm, Verondil, Merry and Pippin and other men of the gentry – seemingly the row highest in honor after the Kings'. Lothíriel noticed Baranor was on the opposite side of the aisle at the other table in that rank. He was engaged in a discussion with his neighbor and she was quick to avert her glance lest he saw her.
Her seat faced the Kings' table and she caught occasional glances from Éomer, his expression softening just a touch each time they locked eyes. He and Imrahil were caught in conversation for most of the dinner, which pleased Lothíriel, though she knew not why. The distance between her and the King of Rohan was probably for the best, feeling unable to trust herself in his immediate vicinity.
The dinner had little fanfare, Aragorn offering a thank you and welcome to the newly arrived party before entreating his guests to enjoy the food and their victory. It was at this meal Lothíriel learned more of the mysterious mission that led to the downfall of the Dark Lord. Merry and Pippin were at liberty to tell the tale of their fellow Hobbits, Frodo and Sam, and they indulged in this freedom, regaling the table with information that perhaps bordered on oversharing. Lothíriel found herself laughing more at that table than she had in a month, a lightness returning to her personality. She tried not to dwell on Erchirion or his injuries, trusting in the healing hands of the King, which had already been upon him, and the strength of his character to recover.
She observed throughout dinner that she was the only high-born lady at the camp, though she noticed a few maids and female servants refilling cups and ferrying plates to the kitchen tents. She knew there had been laundresses in the wagons and suspected more were en route from Minas Tirith to attend the camp. It relieved her not to be the only woman, though she realized she missed Éowyn's presence. She dared not consider the pair friends just yet, unsure of how Éowyn would define their relationship. But Lothíriel had more than a glimmer of hope she might call the shieldmaiden a companion if they had more time together.
Once dinner concluded most parties were left to linger and chat or see to their evening activities. Lothíriel and Amrothos were joined by their father who sat in the seat recently vacated by Elfhelm. Out of her periphery she saw the Captain approach Éomer and they departed the table together. Refocusing on the Prince she caught the tail end of his words to Amrothos.
"… with the King and complete the survey of Morannon."
"How small will this one be?" her brother queried before taking a sip of wine.
"The King has requested twelve riders for this outing. I'll supply Swan Knights. I am certain Éomer will provide Rohirrim."
"Is the King entering Mordor?" Lothíriel asked.
"Not at this time," her father replied, shifting in the seat to look at her. "He wants to ensure no wayward Orcs or men of Sauron convene in Dagorlad. Mordor will be its own campaign, I suspect."
"Is this what it has been like since the victory?"
"For the most part. Groups have been assembled, led by the King, Éomer, the sons of Elrond or myself to rout the remaining enemy from Ithilien proper. The Black Land is too dangerous to traverse. But once the King is crowned and affairs are settled in our kingdoms Aragorn will begin the long work of removing the stains of evil from this land."
"Long work?"
"Yes," Amrothos answered this time, glancing at Imrahil who nodded. "The Dark Lord was our greatest foe. His defeat does not guarantee peace, though. There are evils yet in the world, Loth."
"But under whose banner would they assemble?"
Amrothos shrugged, as though her inquiry were too stupid to provide an answer. Frowning the Princess turned to her father who watched the siblings with a placid if not amused expression. Torches and fires were being lit around them, the field shifting from the brightness of day to a warm and golden glow as night settled in. They were the only ones left at the table, though there were still folk milling about around them.
"Am I asking a foolish question?"
"Not at all," Imrahil assured her with a pat on her hand.
"Well," Amrothos put in with a pinched expression, causing his sister to raise her brows expectantly. "To think evil would be wiped off Middle Earth with the defeat of the Dark Lord… it's a bit simple minded."
"I never said that," she protested with an indignant tone. "I only asked who the followers of Sauron would align with now that he's gone."
"We cannot know," Imrahil replied gently, attempting to smooth the tension between brother and sister. "And if the King can finish them off fully it won't matter."
"And can he?" Lothíriel challenged, focused on Amrothos for an answer.
"Without question," he returned with tilt of his head, accepting her challenge. She leaned toward him, mimicking his earlier tone.
"Good. And with that we can expect the end of all evil. Across Middle Earth."
"You're a halfwit."
"At least I'm not a prick."
"You're acting – "
"Children!" Imrahil did not raise his voice and indeed there was an undertone of merriment in his exclamation. Grey eyes looked between Amrothos and Lothíriel, a smile on his lips, though his words were firm. "You forget yourselves. We are not in Dol Amroth where your tormenting is commonplace. We may be some distance from Minas Tirith but I trust you to comport yourselves as though you were the heirs of a Prince."
"Yes, Father," Amrothos stated immediately, wiping the smirk from his face at once. Lothíriel rolled her eyes skyward, resisting the impulse to provoke him to further name-calling.
"Lothíriel?" she turned to Imrahil with an innocent expression. Shaking his head the Prince pushed away from the table and stood, regarding his children with a sigh. "It does my heart well to see you two teasing each other again – though I'd deny it to anyone else. Do attempt some semblance of propriety, especially before Gondor's first king in a nearly a millennium. And Mithrandir. And the sons of the house of Elrond. I beg you."
"I will do my best," she replied as the Prince smiled warmly. Tilting her head toward Amrothos she added: "The best I can given I'm a halfwit."
TTTT
Lothíriel lingered there after Imrahil and Amrothos wandered away from the tables, assuring them she would not be long. She sat upon a bench overlooking a dip in the field, the meadow below dotted with flowers and tall grasses, evident even the moonlight, which shone richly from the cloudless sky. The rest of the encampment lay at her back, the sounds of folk moving about their business and closing the camp down for the night. Lutes and soft pipes were heard lilting on the breeze some distance behind her but it provided dulcet music as she surveyed the meadow. Although she was waiting for someone it was a welcomed deviation from her usual schedule of checking patients and falling exhausted into bed.
Eventually he did join her, sitting at the end of the bench a few feet from her. The moonlight washed his golden hair with a silvery sheen. He'd removed the armor for dinner and now wore a burgundy and dark green tunic, its collar and borders decorated with gold thread. The sword remained at his side but he appeared uncharacteristically exposed without the maille and armor. Resting his forearms on his knees Éomer leaned forward, looking at the shallow valley beyond.
"I've not seen your hair down before," he remarked after a moment. This surprised her, grey eyes catching him as she tilted her head to the side.
"I suppose not," she agreed. "Though it is strange you have only known it pinned up. At home that is a rare sight indeed."
"Will you return home now the war is over?" he asked, again catching her off guard. His voice was quiet, seemingly making conversation but there was an unspoken question beneath the one he voiced.
"I'm sure we shall in due order. As will you, I suspect."
"Aye. The bones of my uncle need be interred as summer arrives. And Rohan has much rebuilding to do."
"And a king to be crowned."
Éomer said nothing to this, dropping his gaze from the valley to his clasped hands and the ground beneath his feet. Lothíriel winced internally at the sting that comment must've rendered. The silence was heavy between them and it seemed he wanted to speak further but they remained quiet. After several moments Lothíriel shifted her position to draw the letter from the depths of her pocket, turning it over to him with its golden wax seal glinting in the moonlight. Receiving it, Éomer looked from the missive to the woman, tilting his head to look over and up at her from his position.
"Thank you," he murmured, sitting up straight and placing the letter on his knee.
"I'll give you privacy," she stated, starting to rise but his voice arrested her.
"Is she really so angry with me?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Éowyn. I had expected – hoped, really – that she would come. Is she so outraged that she does not want to see me?"
"No," Lothíriel answered quietly, sitting back down and positioning her body toward him. "It is not you."
"Then what, Lady Lothíriel? What could keep her?"
Lothíriel studied him, the lines in his face deepening as he stared out at the field. His voice was resolute, but his expression seemed on the verge of breaking to tears. Again the muscle in his jaw twitched as though it alone fought to maintain control.
"We are all each other has," he murmured so softly she had to lean closer to discern his words. "We are our only family. I do not understand… Does she not think this would wound me?"
"I don't know," she admitted quietly, following his gaze out to the valley. "Your sister's reason for staying in the city is sincere. She believes she made the right choice. But it was not made to hurt you, Éomer."
"You know, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Do you think she divulged it in this?" he held aloft the unopened letter before dropping it on the bench between them.
"If she did I think you would understand her heart better."
"And if she didn't? am I to just take this as though it doesn't cut me so deeply?"
"Your sister loves you," she stated with gentle firmness. The King shifted to look at her, propping a hand on his knee as the other rested on the bench beside him. "I understand you cannot fathom her rationale right now. And I am sorry her decision causes you pain. She does not wish that for you. I know this to be true."
Éomer shook his head, his visage somewhere between disbelief and regret. The vulnerability left his face, pain lingering in his eyes alone as he stared at her for a moment before looking away. She wished to tell him about Éowyn's unrequited love to ease his suffering. She wished even more that his sister had done so herself in the letter.
But she knew the shieldmaiden had not. When the letter was passed between them the Lady of Rohan informed Lothíriel she could not bear to reveal her secret, one she kept with shame, to her brother. Lothíriel's vow to maintain confidence with Éowyn felt like a weight within her now as she beheld his hurt and confusion.
"Your loyalty to my sister has not gone unnoticed," he murmured at length, gazing at his feet with furrowed brows. "But I trust you would not deceive me. That her denial to come is not intended to hurt."
"I would not have agreed to her place on the trip here if she were cross with you. I lie about as well as I use a sword."
"I've not seen you with a blade, Lady Lothíriel. You may be a master."
The woman's immediate snort caused Éomer to look at her, the smile on his lips unbidden in response. She caught his eyes and smiled in return, shaking her head.
"My brothers would piss themselves with laughter if they heard such words. If you'll pardon my crudeness."
"You are pardoned, my Lady."
The mood between them lightened at once and Lothíriel's posture relaxed slightly, mirrored by the King's. Éowyn's letter sat between them, heavier than stone despite the shared amusement. The woman's looked out upon the meadow, a cool spring breeze passing through the valley causing her to shiver. Éomer looked to her and seemed ready to speak when she stood up.
"Please excuse me," she stated as he looked up at her. "I told my father I'd return to our tent shortly and I've lingered here well past that time. I'm surprised Amrothos hasn't readied the Swan Knights to collect me."
"I can understand his protectiveness," Éomer answered, standing as well. "You've been on the road alone for some time. Any brother worth his salt would be concerned about your wellbeing now that he can assure it."
"Not alone," she reminded him with a glance to the camp behind them. "Lord Elfhelm was instrumental in guaranteeing my safe arrival."
"Yes, he informed me of the happenings of the journey here." The King paused, watching her with a vexed expression. "If I might keep you a moment longer… Elfhelm expressed a measure of difficulty regarding a Lord of Minas Tirith who joined the party late."
"Baranor."
"Yes. Baranor." Éomer's hazel eyes narrowed as he drew out the syllables of the man's name. "Do you share Elfhelm's concern?"
"Lord Baranor is an annoyance to just about anyone he comes into contact with," she answered. "As the only woman in the party I suspect he was just looking to preen his feathers. Bothersome, yes. Concerning, I do not believe so."
"Are you certain? I would easily bring this to Prince Imrahil and deal with Baranor's poor conduct without a second thought."
"I do not think that is necessary. If he becomes more persistent I will notify my father. As it stands Baranor has had a handful of opportunities to pester me today and he has not. I imagine his arrogance is limited to being the highest-ranking lord in our small party. Now he is outmatched and outwitted."
"The threat stands." Éomer's tone implied he would not be dissuaded. Lothíriel nodded and watched the King of Rohan relax barely a fraction.
"If he becomes unruly I will inform you," she affirmed. At this Éomer released a breath and dipped his head slightly. Not wishing to depart on the topic of Baranor the woman looked toward the meadow a final time. "Are you departing tomorrow with the others?"
"No," he replied, following her gaze, his features softening. "The next scouting party will be mine. But I'll stay in the camp for a spell so you'll have to suffer me for a few days yet."
"Then suffer I shall." They shared a brief smile before she gave a small bow. "Goodnight."
"Thank you, my Lady," he replied with a glance to the letter on the bench, offering a bow as well. "Sleep well."