Chapter 26

"How many days?"

"Two, for my party at least," Imrahil replied as he secured the belt with his scabbard around his waist. They stood in the drawing room of the Dol Amroth pavilion, the Prince and his son preparing to ride out. Lothíriel assisted her father in buckling the pauldron while Amrothos secured the vambrace around the Prince's forearm.

"We're only running a sweep along the stream past Henneth Annûn and back," her brother commented, stepping away from their father. The men were dressed in the traditional regalia of the Swan Knights, the sigil of their home emblazoned on the azure tunic over their maille.

"I will be glad to see you return," she remarked while cinching the second strap of the pauldron, her father speaking as she worked.

"It will be good for Erchirion that you are here should he wake while we're away."

"I am hopeful he will."

"Loth, have you need of Evandor's service?" Amrothos inquired as he buckled his sword belt firmly. Lothíriel shook her head.

"He was a wonderful companion on the road, but I do not think there is need for protectors now that I'm here.

"Perhaps not a retinue," Imrahil intoned with a frown. "But I would have at least one person to safeguard you, especially while we're away." At this Amrothos' grin shifted from warm to mischievous.

"Between the Hobbits, Gaelen of Minas Tirith, Captain Elfhelm and the King of Rohan himself I think Lothíriel has enough to rotate throughout the week."

"The King of Rohan, hm?" Imrahil's dark brows rose as he looked between the siblings. Amrothos began fastening his cloak, glancing at his sister with a good-natured smirk.

"He can hardly keep his eyes off her."

"I am a mere replacement for his sister," she answered as she moved away from the pair. "And not a promising one. The King was hoping to share the victory with the Lady of Rohan and he was sorely disappointed when I came in her place."

"No, I do not think Éomer was disappointed to see you, little swan," her brother replied with an affectionate tone. Lothíriel shot him a look, to which the Prince's son threw his hands up. "I was only asking if I might steal Evandor for this expedition."

"It seems Lothíriel has protectors enough here and the extra man wouldn't hurt our cause." Imrahil gave his approval with a nod to Amrothos, who excused himself to find his friend. Once alone the Prince regarded his daughter with an appraising albeit relaxed visage.

"So then. Is the Rohan's king partial to you?"

"Not by my reckoning," she answered carefully, resting her lower back against the table and crossing her arms over her chest. "We've been brought together by providence as I attended the Lady Éowyn in Minas Tirith. And now, I came hence bearing her tidings for him. That has been the extent of our exchanges." She intentionally omitted their meeting the morning the host departed from the details, knowing it would only incur questions about propriety and decorum. Imrahil studied his daughter for a moment before speaking, hands clasped before him, his expression still serene.

"Very well."

Lothíriel couldn't read her father's intention but didn't press. If the Prince of Dol Amroth wished to share his thoughts he would not hesitate. She also knew if he did not believe her he would announce it. After a moment he opened his arms and she came to his embrace, his beard rough against her head.

"I am pleased you are here, melethel," he murmured as he held her a moment longer.

"I am too, Ada," she replied, his arms loosening for her to step away. They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, the Princess picking the adorned helmet up from the table, ready to offer it to her father.

"You know," he began, his gaze focused on adjusting the sleeve of the tunic around the vambrace, "Faramir was wise to send you with those guards."

"I am grateful," she replied tentatively, unsure of his meaning.

"Lothíriel, you have been raised under the protection of three brothers in a land renowned for its laws against harm toward women." Imrahil then leveled his gaze with her, his expression stern, though his eyes were tender. "You have been sheltered from the ways of men – the thoughts and pursuits of the those who would do a lady harm. And for that I am thankful. But I cannot protect you from all that exists outside our walls."

"Have I disappointed you in coming here, Father?" she felt immediately like a little girl again, facing gentle but firm reproachment for foolish behavior. The Prince smiled, his face holding some deep unfamiliar sorrow.

"No. You have done Dol Amroth and your family proud as a healer. You are young, my daughter. Capable in many ways but unlearned in the world and though I wish to keep this education from you as long as I can it would be my failure if anything were to happen to you. Faramir, your brothers, myself… we would forever shield you if it were in our power."

"What would you have me do?" her voice was meek, gaze dropping to the ground. Imrahil shook his head and stepped forward, taking her hand.

"It is in your nature to trust without thought. What I ask will be foreign to you, but you must be vigilant. Aware. Careful. The three guards tasked with your protection did so not simply because Faramir requested it but because they know dark thoughts lurk in the hearts and minds of the wicked. Put your trust in those venerable men and your brothers. In the Kings, Aragorn and Éomer. They are good and noble. I do not mean to scare you, Lothíriel. I cannot, however, leave you here tomorrow without armoring you with knowledge."

"I understand," she murmured, raising her gaze to his. She observed the grey mingling with her father's dark hair suddenly seemed more abundant than when they'd left Dol Amroth. The lines of age across his fair face looked deeper and his eyes, ever bright and shining in her estimation, now held a depth of weariness. She squeezed his hand, aware that she did not comprehend the true magnitude of his fear, though she wished to be a dutiful daughter. "I will heed your words, Father. Do you believe me safe here when you depart?"

"I do," he nodded resolutely. "There are none in this camp in your immediate vicinity that give me pause. I ask only that you be aware of yourself, especially in the healer's ward."

"I shall." He released her hand, and she offered him the helmet, which he tucked under his arm. "I look forward to your return in a few days." The mood shifted as he briefly put a hand on her cheek and smiled.

"I believe we'll have a span of a few days without sorties after this, which will be a relief. We'll have much to discuss in that time – I wish to hear about your time in the White City. And perhaps you might play the harp for the King."

"Harp?"

"Aye," Imrahil stepped to the side and gestured to a large item covered in a sheet in the corner of the room, which she'd assumed was another piece of furniture for their pavilion. "I requested it specifically from Faramir when the provision lists were made. I did not think he would send it so quickly. But I thought – if we've had a victory we ought to celebrate it properly."

Lothíriel smiled and followed the Prince out into the morning light. The woman felt a sense of contentment and familiarity she had not experienced in some time. Excluding their location it was as though she was bidding her father and brothers farewell at home, seeing them off on an expedition a common occurrence in Dol Amroth. She joined the Swan Knights at the main thoroughfare where their grey horses stood waiting. She raised a hand to Evandor who was mounted beside Amrothos, a vision of them as boys on their ponies flashing before her.

The King of Gondor then rallied his men, the companies a mixture of soldiers from across Gondor and Rohan, the Swan Knights split between them to aid both captains. They rode out together, though Imrahil's group would head northeast along the stream off the Anduin while Aragorn would take his party along the river proper toward the Mouths of the Entwash. There was no fanfare to see them off, just a dusty trail kicked up from under-hoof as they disappeared through the valleys of North Ithilien.

Once they left Lothíriel took herself to the healer's tent, securing the linen cap to her head and fastening the apron about her. She wore the same dress from the day prior, though Imrahil had assured her a bath would be available in the evening and she would be able to send her clothes for laundering if she desired. Even after fording the river two days ago the thought of a soak sounded delightful. The Princess was entirely sure she carried enough dust in her hair from the road to Cair Andros that her tresses might appear as fair as Éowyn's if she unbound them.

Upon arriving at the tent she was informed Erchirion had been awake for several hours and was lucid enough to talk. She found her middle brother on the pallet, propped up slightly by extra blankets beneath his head and shoulders. He turned when she entered the space, the bandages over his head nearly covering all his dark hair. The visible eye had dark circles beneath, the hollows of his cheeks shadowed, and the bridge of his nose was swollen if not broken. But he smiled when he saw her as she knelt beside him.

"Are you a dream?" he asked, his voice dry as though he hadn't had water in days.

"No," she whispered, finding his hand with her own. "I am here. And I'll take care of you."

"Did Father send for you? When did you arrive? How –"

"Shh," she quieted him with a smile and squeeze of his hand. "Worry not over these questions. I'll not be leaving until we all depart for the White City."

Erchirion seemed placated by this response, resting back against the makeshift pillows. He touched the fabric covering his right eye, finding her with his left.

"They said there was no saving it," he explained dully, his voice hoarse. "They'll be calling me Chir-One-Eye."

"Perhaps we'll fashion you a patch."

"Like the pirates from our stories."

Lothíriel smiled as he adjusted his upper body, the effort causing him to close his eye and release a sigh. She watched him with the critical judgment of a healer, setting aside her sisterly affection to assess him properly. She couldn't tell how much awareness he possessed and to what extent his injuries affected his mind. It was unclear just how he'd been wounded, whether it was a result of a quick slash to the face or blunt force to his skull. Regardless, he was in no shape for anyone to determine his prognosis.

"Can I go home?" he murmured, eye still closed as his head lolled toward her.

"Not yet. Soon, though."

"Will I see Dol Amroth once more, Loth? See the sun on the far tower? Remember when we spilled the wine on the beach in our finery? Elphir nearly skinned our hides. I've never run so fast..." His words tumbled forth with a rasping voice as his eye remained shut, speaking as though he were still in that moment in the past. She held his hand as he trailed off, a haunted smile on his lips.

"We'll get you home," she promised, running her thumb across the palm of the hand she held. He nodded slightly, his breathing slowed until he was snoring lightly. She placed a hand on his uninjured cheek, waiting to make sure he wouldn't stir before standing. Lothíriel then convened with the master healer to determine Erchirion's care. They decided to give him another few days in the ward before moving him to the family's pavilion. His recovery, besides the head wound, was straightforward. But neither healer could determine the outcome of his mind, especially with his semi-lucid states being so inconsistent.

She spent the rest of the morning tending to other patients and assisting with the more menial tasks of sweeping, making ointments and establishing order and organization to the healer's storeroom. Midday brought Merry and Pippin to her company, requesting she join them for lunch. They sat together outside at one of the dining tables enjoying a light meal. The Hobbits inquired after her trip to Cair Andros and she learned a bit more from Pippin about the battle. They were joined toward the end of the lunch by Éomer and the dwarf, Gimli.

"Well met, my Lady," the warrior addressed her with a curt bow. She dropped her gaze and canted her head as he sat opposite her. Éomer offered a grin as he took a seat beside the dwarf. "The Horselord tells me you're a healer then?" Horselord was spoken with such affection Lothíriel could not help but smile.

"You doubt my word?" Éomer put in with feigned offense. The dwarf shrugged and popped a slice of cheese into his mouth.

"Not hardly! But I'll tell you, my Lady, anyone who spends that amount of time on the back of a horse – brains must be addled something fierce!"

"Were you not mounted behind your Elven companion for the battle?" she inquired nonchalantly as Pippin nodded enthusiastically. Gimli paused in his drink of ale, looking at her over the rim before swallowing.

"Not because I wanted to be, lass. And whosoever is telling folks that I enjoyed it – falsehoods. Utter slander."

"I'll be sure not to believe a word," Lothíriel promised with a smile. He nodded and finished the ale off.

"And you're someone important's daughter, isn't that right?"

"Imrahil of Dol Amroth," Éomer answered, his eyes on the Princess.

"A fine man," the dwarf confirmed as he set the mug down with a thud. "With fine sons – stout warriors the both of them. How fares the one with the," he wiggled his finger at one eye, thick brows raised.

"Regaining strength," she replied amiably. "He'll be adjusting to the loss of the eye for some time, though."

"Ah, he'll adapt. My mother's cousin lost his eye and hearing in both ears and he swings the meanest axe you'd ever see with astounding precision. Though, that could be owed to him not being able to see or hear anything softer than a horn. Just goes around thwacking things."

They sat together a bit longer, Gimli sharing tales with Merry and Pippin as Éomer and Lothíriel listened. She couldn't help but notice the affection the dwarf showed not only the Hobbits but the King of Rohan as well. There were undertones of shared deference between them, and the teasing was a welcome change for her to witness from Éomer. Although he wasn't altogether mirthful it was clear he was at ease with Gimli and let his guard down some.

Their prolonged lunch ended when Gimli brought up sharpening his weapons, with the Hobbits exclaiming that neither of their blades had been honed since leaving Minas Tirith. Friendly disapproval was written on the dwarf's face as he harried Merry and Pippin to their quarters to fetch their swords for sharpening. The King and Lothíriel were left to share a grin as the plates were cleared from the table.

"I ought to return to my duties," the woman announced, standing as Éomer joined her. "I doubt the other healers are afforded such a long break."

"The other healers are neither women nor Princesses," he pointed out as they fell in step, offering her his forearm as they walked, which she accepted. Polite and brief bows were given as they walked the field in the direction of the medic tent.

"All the same," she replied amiably. "I don't wish for a reputation of idleness."

"I somehow doubt that's anyone's complaint of you, my Lady."

She caught his glance toward her out of the corner of her eye. She willed her heart to maintain a healthy rhythm, the closeness of their bodies and her hand on his arm giving her cause to feel flustered. She smiled in response to his comment.

"Oh, I'm sure my brothers could list their complaints and it would rival the Anduin in length. Amrothos alone has enough gripes to fill Orodruin. Well, what remains of it."

Éomer smirked, and she thought she almost heard him chuckle but it was faint and fleeting. They walked the final yards in easy silence. When they arrived at the healer's tent Éomer turned to face her with a slight smile. Suddenly Lothíriel caught sight of Baranor over the King's shoulder, still at some distance, approaching the tent. But as Éomer took her hand and gave a small bow, the Lord from Minas Tirith adjusted his course elsewhere.

"My Lady?" Hazel eyes watched her with puzzlement and she directed her attention back to the King with an apologetic smile.

"Yes," she answered. "Something caught my eye – forgive me." Éomer glanced over his shoulder but Baranor had disappeared and in the time it took the Horselord to look and return his gaze to her, Lothíriel adjusted her expression to diminish suspicion.

"I shall see you at dinner, then?"

"Yes."

"My Lady," they bowed to one another before parting ways.

Lothíriel was surprised at how pleased she felt that the sight of Éomer was enough to send Baranor away, if only to afford her peace from the Lord's pestering. Baranor had been largely absent from her since they'd arrived, which buoyed her hope that he was smart enough to leave her be now that she was surrounded by her menfolk. She could not help but reflect upon his behavior with the warning from her father earlier that day. While Lord Húrin's stepson was far from virtuous, he did not, by her estimation, possess the qualities one might deem malicious.

Thoughts of Imrahil's warning persisted throughout the Princess' day in moments of calm or consideration. They especially endured while washing herself that evening. Where and how the attendants came by the sizable tub she found in the Dol Amroth quarters after supper was a mystery, but it was soon forgotten as she indulged in the warm water, cleansed her skin and hair and enjoyed a soak. The solitude gave her more than enough time to reflect upon her father's words.

While she was not entirely ignorant of that which he feared it was clear she had not the awareness her father and brothers possessed. Exposure in her twenty years to the subject had been limited to allegorical fables of wicked men and the few cases her father had presided over in which a husband was punished for foul deeds. But the details were never shared with her. She wasn't entirely sure what her father wanted her to be vigilant for beyond a generic outline.

There were attributes she could immediately identify as malicious and evil – perhaps it was for those traits she should be cautious. It also seemed prudent to ask the opinions of other women when she had the opportunity as they could bestow wisdom even her father could not. But that would have to wait until they left the camp.

Once clean she donned a new chemise and overdress for the night, noting the solitude of the rather large pavilion. There were Swan Knights and Gondorian soldiers alike stationed mindfully around the tents and Lothíriel spared only a brief thought for safety. Having Éomer, Mithrandir, Gimli and the contingency of the Western Host was more than reassuring. To say she felt peaceful was not entirely true, but for the first time in months Lothíriel drifted to sleep without the grip of worry or distress.

A/N:

Translation

Melethel (Sindarin) – sweetheart, dear one

Thank you to my editor, Skye, for reviewing the chapter and conferring on plot and structure!

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